#and I really like that his suspenders are more visible now!

[boilercity]

Currently thinking about the differences between the various Anton talksprites. The new one is a whole different thing, but I didn't even realize they changed his hat and eyebrows between the other two until I actually put them side by side. Huh.

[pucksandpower]

MILF

Toto Wolff x wife!Reader

Summary: Toto knows his wife is a MILF … but this doesn’t mean he is okay with his son’s friends calling you that

Warnings: teenage boys doing teenage boy things

Based on this request

“Pass the schnitzel, darling,” you say to your husband as the three of you sit down for dinner. Your teenage son has just gotten home from school, and you can’t wait to hear about his day.

Toto smiles at you as he passes the platter of breaded veal. “How was school?” He asks.

Lukas shrugs as he takes a bite. “It was okay,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

You give him a look. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, sweetie,” you gently chide. Even though he’s almost an adult now, you still see your little boy in him.

Lukas swallows and straightens up. “Sorry, Mum.”

“So tell us about your day,” you prompt. “Learn anything new and interesting?”

Your son fidgets in his seat. “Well … some of the guys were talking about you today.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. “Me? What about me?”

Lukas glances uncomfortably at his father. “Just … stuff they saw online. Paparazzi photos from when we were on the yacht last month.”

Toto sets his fork down, his expression darkening. He’s no stranger to being in the public eye, but he’s always been protective of you and Lukas. “What exactly were they saying?” He asks in a carefully neutral tone.

“They, uh …” Lukas rubs the back of his neck. “They called Mom a MILF.”

“A what?” Toto sputters, while you have to suppress a laugh. You’re familiar with the crude term, given your substantially younger age compared to your husband.

“It’s not funny!” Toto says indignantly. “I won’t have people objectifying my wife like that.”

You reach over and pat his arm. “It’s okay, dear. I’m not bothered by it.” You turn back to Lukas with an amused smile. “I’m flattered those boys think your old mom’s still got it.”

“You’re not old!” Lukas protests loyally. “It’s just, you know, you’re a lot younger than Vati, and you’re really pretty, so the guys notice.”

Toto scowls, but you grin and blow your son a kiss. “Thanks, sweetie.” Your playful reaction seems to visibly relax him.

“This is unacceptable,” Toto shakes his head. “I should call the school. Get those little punks suspended for sexual harassment.”

“Oh Toto, don’t be silly,” you wave dismissively. “They’re just teenage boys. I’m sure they didn’t mean any harm.”

“It doesn’t matter!” He insists. “Your dignity and privacy should be respected, not exploited. People think because we’re in the spotlight that they can say whatever vulgar nonsense they want.”

You reach over again and lace your fingers through his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I know it bothers you, darling. But I married you knowing full well how public our lives would be. A little crude gossip comes with the territory.”

Toto opens his mouth to retort, then pauses, some of the indignation leaving his eyes. “I just don’t want anyone disrespecting you,” he says finally.

You smile softly. Even after all these years of marriage, your heart still flutters at his protectiveness. “I know. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”

Lukas makes a face. “Ugh, gross. Can you guys not be all mushy right now?”

You laugh and blow him another kiss. “Sorry Lukas. I can’t help it — your father’s the love of my life.”

Toto smiles back at you, the anger fading from his face. “And you’re mine, schatzi.”

Your son pretends to gag. “Seriously, stop. I’m trying to eat here.”

You chuckle and spear another bite of schnitzel. “Alright, we’ll behave. Now, tell me more about the rest of your day ...”

The conversation moves on to lighter topics as you finish up dinner. You listen attentively while Lukas fills you in on the drama with his friend group and his struggles in history class.

After clearing the dishes, the three of you move to the living room. You curl up next to Toto on the couch while Lukas sprawls out on the carpet to play video games.

You close your eyes contentedly and rest your head on your husband’s shoulder. Despite the lifestyle that being married to Toto provides you with, this right here is your happy place — your little family, spending a quiet evening at home.

Toto wraps an arm around you and presses a soft kiss to your temple. “Have I told you lately how lucky I am?” He murmurs.

You smile up at him. “Even after all these years, you still give me butterflies.”

“Good,” he says firmly. “I’ll tell you every day if I have to, until you’re sick of hearing it.”

Lukas groans loudly from the floor. “Could you guys be any more embarrassing?”

You and Toto both laugh. “What? I can’t tell my beautiful wife how much I love her?” He calls out in protest.

“Not when I’m right here!” Lukas complains. “Get a room or something.”

You grin mischievously. “That’s not a bad idea ...” you say, running a hand up your husband’s chest.

Toto’s eyes darken. “Minx,” he murmurs.

Lukas scrambles to his feet. “Okay, I’m out of here.” He gives you both a look of exaggerated disgust as he heads upstairs.

You and Toto chuckle as you listen to his bedroom door slam shut.

“Now, where were we?” Toto says in a low voice, pulling you closer. You bite your lip coyly as he presses his mouth to yours. No matter how many years go by, the chemistry between you is still electric.

You shift against him eagerly as the kiss deepens. His hands slide down to grip your hips, and you make a soft noise of pleasure. After nearly two decades of marriage, he knows exactly how to touch you.

“Tell me again,” you whisper when you finally break apart, slightly breathless.

Toto gazes into your eyes. “I love you,” he says sincerely. “I will always love you. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

You kiss him again, tenderly this time. “I love you too, Toto. Forever.”

No matter what people say or how famous you become, your relationship has always been grounded in this — the unwavering love between you. The rest of the world falls away when you’re together.

You rest your head contentedly on his shoulder again, his arms wrapped around you. This right here, next to the man who still looks at you like you hung the moon, is home.

***

The next day after school, Lukas comes home with a few of his friends in tow. You’re just finishing up putting away the groceries when you hear the chatter of teenage voices approaching.

“Hey Mum, we’re gonna hang out downstairs,” Lukas calls out as the group of boys raids the kitchen fridge for snacks.

You smile and give them a little wave. “Hi boys. There’s more drinks in the pantry if you need it.”

The teenagers rumble acknowledgements through mouthfuls of food before thundering downstairs to your home theater room. You chuckle and shake your head. Teenage appetites are truly a phenomenon.

You’re straightening up the living room when you hear the front door open again, signaling Toto’s return from work.

“Hello, liebling,” he greets you warmly, sweeping you into an embrace.

You kiss him in welcome. “How was work today?”

“The usual madness,” he sighs. “But coming home to you makes it all worthwhile.”

You smile up at him adoringly. Even after all these years, your heart still flutters at his smooth compliments.

“Oh, Lukas has some friends over,” you mention. “They’re downstairs watching movies or playing video games.”

Toto frowns a little. “Those wouldn’t happen to be the same friends who were objectifying you?”

You pat his chest placatingly. “Now dear, we talked about this. Don’t make a fuss.”

“Hmph.” He still looks slightly disgruntled. “Well, I should at least go down and say hello.”

You follow him downstairs, where the group of teenage boys are sprawled out on the sofas engrossed in some action movie. Explosions boom from the surround sound system as CGI buildings crumble onscreen.

They look up when you and Toto enter. “Oh hey Mr. Wolff,” one of them says.

“Vati, you remember my friends right?” Lukas introduces. “Jason, Andrew, Ryan, and David.”

“Ah yes, nice to see you boys again,” Toto says smoothly.

Too smoothly.

You can sense the storm brewing beneath his polite façade.

Sure enough, as the teens’ attention returns to the movie, Toto clears his throat. “So I heard you boys were discussing my wife the other day.”

The room goes silent, save for the cinematic explosions still blaring through the speakers. The boys glance around uneasily.

“Um, we didn’t mean anything bad by it,” David finally offers timidly.

Toto raises an eyebrow. “Oh? So objectifying and sexualizing a married woman is not meant to be disrespectful?”

The teens squirm under his icy stare. You put a warning hand on your husband’s arm, but he continues.

“Let me tell you something about my wife,” he says, an edge creeping into his tone. “She is an elegant, successful, and highly intelligent woman. Not some piece of meat for you ogling schoolboys to drool over.”

The chastised boys all mumble apologies and stare fixedly at the floor.

Toto points a stern finger at them. “I trust there will be no further vulgar comments, or you won’t be welcome in this house again.”

“Yes sir,” they mutter. Lukas looks like he wants the leather couch to swallow him whole. You have to stifle a smile at your husband’s overprotective papa bear routine.

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.” Toto straightens his suit jacket. “Now you boys enjoy your … movie.”

He turns and heads back upstairs, with you following after an apologetic smile to the shell-shocked teens.

Once you’re out of earshot, you swat his shoulder reproachfully. “Toto! Did you really need to traumatize the poor kids?”

“I didn’t traumatize them,” he huffs. “I just … explained a few things.” At your skeptical look, he amends “ … Firmly.”

You shake your head in exasperation. “You’re impossible. I thought I asked you not to make a fuss.”

He takes your hands earnestly. “I’m sorry, schatzi. I just can’t stand anyone disrespecting you. You deserve to be treated like a queen.”

You soften at the sincerity in his eyes. “Oh Toto. You’re too good to me.” You wrap your arms around him in a conciliatory hug.

He holds you close. “Nonsense. I’ll spend every day proving you’re the most important thing in the world to me.”

You snuggle against his chest, reminded yet again how lucky you are. Even when he overreacts, you know it comes from a place of devotion.

“Just promise me you’ll go easy on the boys,” you say wryly as you pull back. “I think you scared them straight for life.”

Toto smiles ruefully. “I suppose I did get a bit … intense. But the message won’t do any harm.”

You laugh and kiss his cheek. “My noble protector.”

He grins. “Proudly.”

Later, as the boys are getting ready to leave, Toto stops them at the front door.

“Before you go, I have one more thing to say,” he announces. The teens glance at each other nervously.

Toto looks each of them in the eye. “If I ever hear of you disrespecting my wife again, I won’t be so kind. You see, she’s actually a MIDF … Mother I Do Fuck.” He enunciates the words pointedly.

The teens’ eyes widen in horror, and Lukas turns bright red. “Vati!” He hisses in embarrassment.

Toto ignores him. “So I would appreciate it if you kept your crude comments to yourselves next time.” He gives them a tight smile. “Are we clear?”

The boys nod rapidly. “Yes sir. Crystal clear, Mr. Wolff,” one mumbles.

“Good.” Toto claps his hands together. “Then get home safely.”

After the front door shuts behind the fleeing teens, Lukas rounds on his father. “Oh my god, Vati! Why would you say that?”

He shrugs unapologetically. “I wanted to make sure they got the message loud and clear this time.”

Lukas just shakes his head in mortification before stomping upstairs.

You slide your arms around your unrepentant husband. “You just couldn’t resist, could you?”

“They left with a healthy dose of fear and respect,” Toto says smugly. “I think my work here is done.”

[amalgamationillustration]

Does anyone else find this outfit choice so unusual for Blitz? He normally wears less formal but much cooler outfits, like his outfit for their date was a lot more casual but cool

Or when he went to that party with Loona

It's a very similar outfit there too, when he was arguably trying to fuck someone, which is all he was planning to do in Full Moon.

But for Stolas in Full Moon, he's wearing this honestly kind of nerdy outfit. It's not really fancy like a full suit would be, it's a short sleeve shirt with suspenders and a bowtie and it's kinda dorky and at first I thought oh maybe he's trying to appear fancy to impress Stolas who's always well dressed, but then I realised Stolas doesn't really wear bow ties he has the ruffled collar thingies, but you know who ALWAYS wears a bowtie and who IS in a loving, committed, happy relationship?

MOXXIE.

MOXXIE is almost always shown with a bowtie with the exceptions usually being when he's dressed as a character or in feminine clothing.

Moxie has a bowtie when he's a cowboy

He has a slightly fancier bowtie for his anniversary

In the Loo Loo Land episode where they're body guards he's even wearing a bowtie OVER A REGULAR TIE.

Now I know I'm gonna sound crazy here but I think Blitz, sweet, misguided Blitz, saw M&Ms relationship, which he is visibly obsessed with and decided the key to a happy partnership, was replicable with just a bowtie.

He also definitely borrowed it from Moxxie without asking.

[joshslater]

Stained

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

They say when you are in an accident everything moves in slow motion. That wasn't at all how it felt for me. I was driving down a slight slope toward an intersection out in bumfuckyall, where a truck was waiting at a red light. Why they would put a traffic light out here with nothing but crop fields around is beyond me. Getting some extra revenue from people running the lights perhaps. Not busy enough to warrant the installation though. Maybe to stop traffic when harvesters or whatever pass by, but they would move slowly and be pretty darn visible in this terrain.

The belt tensioner yanked me into the seat at the same time as I heard the crash and I had just time to turn my head back from the fields to see the now milky front window, shattered into thousands of small glass cubes suspended by the plastic film on the back of it, give way to the mass that had been thrown off the flatbed and flung into my windshield. Through the widening gap at the top of the windshield liquid was dumped into the car, all over me, and everything turned into black silence with a strong smell of chemicals.

It all went faster than I could register, and I just sat there still with burning eyes, trying to comprehend what had just happened. I somehow had run into the truck. I heard hurried steps outside and someone first trying to open the door then rapping the side window and shouting "Are you hurt, buddy?"

Was I? My shoulder hurt from the seat belt, and I couldn't see anything, but otherwise I wouldn't feel anything damaged. I fumbled a bit to find how to open the door and once successful responded "I'm OK I think. I can't see though."

"Thank Lord. It's wood stain. Had some buckets in the back. Some paint too. It'll make you dizzy and sick, but I wouldn't worry about going blind. Let me help you out and lay you down. I have plenty of water to rinse you."

Despite squeezing my eyes as shut as I could, reasoning that opening them would probably let more paint in than out, I had no problems finding and removing the seat belt, and stepping out of the car. As soon as I was out of the car he grabbed my arm and led me to a spot in front of both vehicles. My mouth tasted of chemicals and I spat on the ground several times.

"Just lie down here, buddy. Are you sure you aren't hurt?" "A bit sore, but nothing really hurts." "That's a relief. The car is probably a write-off with all the damage outside and in. This is all my fault." Without opening my eyes I let myself be guided to the ground while he talked. I could hear the steps of another person getting closer from beyond my car. "It is?" "Casy, get the big jug!" he told the other person, who answered a curt "Yep" in a young man's voice. "I must have put in reverse while waiting for the light and then... reverse into you," he said, talking to me again. "It's a rental. I'm sure they are used to handling things like this." "Just stay still there buddy, and I'll start pouring."

He began pouring water on my face, occasionally wiping with a rag of some sort. "Open your mouth and take some water. Then swig it around and spit it out." We did that a few times. A few more rinses and I dared to open my eyes. He looked like he sounded like. Trucker cap, beard, grey and blue flannel shirt, blue jeans, and boots. Hovering behind him was a boy in his late teens or early twenties, dressed very similarly in camo cap, blue JROTC hoodie, jeans, and boots. For my part I was wood-stain brown and garden-fence white.

"I'm Cliff, this is Casy," Cliff said and gave me his hand to help me up. As I stood up and looked past his pick up I could see my car. It looked worse than I would have expected. While the collision didn't feel that bad, the crumple zones certainly felt it. A few buckets of paint had landed next to it, but clearly the inside was ruined by the ones that had passed through the glass. I had no hope that my travel bag with what little extra clothes I had brought with me had survived either, as I think I had tossed it on the passenger seat. 

"I'm Bradly" "Casy, give Bradly your pop. He can't taste nothing but paint." Casy did a nod and another dull "yep", but jumped into the truck with ease and was quickly out again with a can of Monster. Ignoring that it was opened and with a third gone, I took an eager sip, swirled it in my mouth, and swallowed. When I had emptied the can the taste of oil and paint was almost gone.

"I reckon we need to hose you down before we can do anything else. Casy can stay here while we bring you to the house to clean you up. Then we can figure out how to take care of the car. How's that sound, buddy?"

"Sounds reasonable to me." "I'm sorry, but do you mind getting on the flatbed." He motioned all over my paint-drenched body. "No. Is it far?" "It's a quick drive."

When you are lying on your back on a tarp next to reclaimed wood, slowly drying into the color of an antique table, seeing nothing but the afternoon sky, nothing is a quick drive. I didn't dare move, not so much because I was lying unprotected in the back of a truck that was driving far too fast for my comfort, but because I was soaked in oil and paint and water, and didn't want to mess anything else up. The wind running over my body was chilling, despite the balmy weather. My shoulder and chest hurt from where the belt tightener pulled me back into the seat. Despite the wind there was a strong smell of paint. I felt lightheaded. My mind began to wander. I should probably call the motel that I would be late, or not arriving at all. I was thinking about how I decided to not have a coffee at the diner to get back on the road quicker. I should have bought one. The apple pie slices looked delicious. Eventually however I would see treetops creeping into view and soon after we came to a stop on gravel.

"Where is he?" a woman asked nearby. "Back there," Cliff answered and opened the tailgate. He extended a hand to help me down. "Hey buddy, this is Sarah!" "Hi," Sarah said smiling. "Bradly"

Instead of walking towards the house she motioned toward one of the barns. "Hose is over there. Then you can take a proper shower after." On Sarah's urging I took off everything but my briefs. She suggested I take them off as well, but didn't press the issue. The water was pretty high-pressure and ice cold. Cold water worked better than hot water Sarah claimed, not that hot water was an option outside the house.

Once I was hosed enough that the water didn't run brown anymore, and I felt I was near risking hypothermia, I wrapped myself in an old discolored beach blanket Sarah handed me and we walked back to the house. I shivered and my lightheadedness had turned into a dull, thumping headache. Cliff and the truck were gone. Sarah grabbed one of the white plastic chairs, placed it near the front door, and told me to sit down. "The white paint doesn't stick too bad to the skin, but we're never going to be able to clean this out," she said and touched my hair. I hadn't felt a feeling like that since I used way too much hair gel for Halloween many years ago. It was like my hair and the paint had formed a helmet. She quickly returned from the house with a trimmer on an extension cord. "Sides are not too bad. I can make a flat top," she said and buzzed away, clearly used to taking care of Cliff and Casy. I cringed when I heard it, and was about to stop her, but changed my mind. Better to let her keep as much hair as possible and decide on the real emergency haircut later.

She then led me through the house and what must have been Casy's room, with a home gym and a gaming setup, to his bathroom. Everything was big and roomy, but I guess it is inexpensive to build large when you have lots of land, time, and resources. "Take as much time as you need and use any of the soaps you want. I'll put some clothes on the bed for you. Just throw your briefs in the bathroom bin," Sarah said and left.

I looked in the bathroom mirror, the first time I saw myself after the accident. I looked terrible. The haircut was ugly, of course, but the uneven stain stains all over my body made me look tan and dirty. Like I had spent all day riding a dirt bike in mud, not the last ten minutes being blasted by ice water. I looked as beaten and spent as I felt.

By "any of the soaps" she meant the Axe Total Fresh 3-in-1 shampoo, conditioner, and body wash that there were four opened bottles of in various places in the bathroom. Somehow Casy managed to both have a messy bathroom without having much in it. The water felt like a blessing on my cold, bruised body. I just stood there for a while, letting the warm water rinse me. Then I lathered myself completely and rinsed off three times in a row. Neither the foam nor the water looked discolored, and when I dried myself with the one towel in the room it didn't become stained. The image in the mirror however looked disappointingly identical to before. The same stained me, but now with a more acute headache. Everything smelled like Axe Total Fresh, and it did my head no favors.

I peeked into Casy's room. No one was there and the door to the rest of the house was shut, so I entered and looked at the clothes laid out for me on the bed. Only one of each, so no options. First black compression boxers with a wide Nike band. Then a pair of green-brown socks that looked like what the army issues. Some lightly distressed blue jeans with a black leather belt. A military green Under Armour T-shirt in a glossy material with "patriotic" print with stars and almost-US flags on it. A hunting camo baseball cap. Finally a pair of well-worn leather boots. I put it all on, including the hat to cover the ugly hair and the boots because I wasn't sure what the indoor etiquette here was. Everything fit surprisingly well, though I guess she could have looked at the size of my ruined clothes.

I opened the door and stepped out of the room, trying to find Sarah, or anyone really. How long had I been in the shower? Probably an hour, if not longer. "Hello?" "We're over here," I heard Sarah shout from across the house. I walked in the direction of her voice and was soon joined by Cliff who emerged from another room. "How are you feeling, buddy?" he asked in a concerned fatherly manner. "I think I'm about to have an episode of migraine." "That something you've had before." "Never."

"Take your seats. You over here Brad," Sarah said as we turned the corner into a large kitchen with a table laid for four. "Bud... eh, Bradly." I tried to correct her, but she had turned to the big cast iron pot on the stove. Casy already sat by the table with a phone in his hand, but his eyes were firmly on me. His face didn't reveal any expressions.

Sarah placed the heavy pot on the table and with a big ladle filled my plate with a dark stew. "Here you go, Bud," she said. As the smell of beef stock, fresh herbs, carrots, onions, and slow cooked, rich meat reached my nose I immediately recognized the telltales. Weakening of the jaw. The increase in saliva. I almost threw myself out of the chair, rushed over to the sink, and managed just in time to throw up into the sink. I realized I was sweating. Then another heave of vomit. "Oh, poor buddy," Sarah said and patted my back.  "Here, drink this," she said and filled a glass of water from a pitcher. My body heaved a third time, but nothing came out. "Thanks," I replied and took the glass with some apprehension, waiting to see if my body would do something else. Once it appeared safe I took the glass and started to empty it.

"Casy, make one of them shakes for him. He needs to get something in his belly." Almost reluctantly, like I had ruined his meal, Casy got up and moved towards a cupboard. "I just need to rest I think," I said, my head now mercilessly pounding in pain. "Out of the question. You need something to fortify you."

Casy quickly scooped powder from a large plastic container into a workout shaker bottle thing, poured in some water, gave it a quick shake, and handed it to me. I had barely put it to my mouth when Cliff said "He can barely stand. Take him to your room for a nap." "Come then," Casy said and led the way out of the kitchen, with me following sipping the chalky mixture. "You know the way though," he said once out of earshot from the kitchen. Back inside his room he motioned at the bed and said "This is a bed," deadpan to me. I wanted to say it wasn't my fault his day was ruined. In fact, mine had gone way worse than his, but my head hurt too much for me to care. "Thanks." I put my back on the bed and was out in seconds.

The hard plastic of the ear protectors was what made me wake up properly, and it took a moment to realize what it was and get them off. Almost ripped the cap off with them. These were the radio/bluetooth kind that allowed you to listen to music while you worked. Bright, orange colored cups with the rest of it black. I got up from the bed and left them on the sheets. Apparently I was already fully dressed, so I headed to the kitchen. Sarah was there preparing things.

"Mornin' Ma'am." "Good morning, Buddy." I took my seat. Sarah filled a bowl with porridge, drizzled honey over it, set it on the table in front of me together with a spoon. "Better hurry. Cliff is waiting for you." "Yes, Ma'am."

It wasn't until I began eating I realized how hungry I was, so it wasn't a problem to be quick. Not having seconds though felt rough. Just outside the house was Cliff, doing something with a quad to which he had hooked a trailer full of wooden poles. "Mornin', Sir" "Morning Buddy! Get up in the trailer and make sure nothing shakes out while we drive down the fields. "Yes, Sir."

Once we came to a stop after a bumpy ride, Cliff showed me how to operate the earth drill to make holes, then how to insert a pole, and with the sledge hammer drive it down so it fit securely. He then let me do that while he was working on putting up wires for the electric fence. After we had been at it for quite a while Sarah called on the walkie-talkie and said sheriff Miller wanted to talk to us. We unhooked the trailer and drove up to the farm on the quad, me sitting behind Cliff, straddling him.

Outside the main house Sarah and the sheriff waited for us. It was mostly a boring conversation between Cliff and the sheriff that I tuned out of, but then the sheriff turned to me and asked "And who is this?" "It's Buddy, farmhand for the summer," Cliff answered and took a slight step to the side to give room for the sheriff. The sheriff looked me over for a second. "You were here yesterday?" "Yes, Sir." "Did you see anyone come by yesterday afternoon or evening?" "No, Sir." "Anything else out of the ordinary happened yesterday?" "Yes, Sir. I threw up, Sir. Hasn't happened in years, Sir." "Hahaha." He turned to Cliff again. "If anything comes up let me know. It's not the first traveler that's gotten lost around here, but they usually turn up sooner or later." "They have a habit of doing that, causing extra work for the local sheriff while they are wandering about," Cliff answered, smiling back. The sheriff shook his head and opened his car door. "You ain't wrong."

Once the car was well on its way up the dirt road Sarah motioned at cooler that was on the ground. "I was about to come down with lunch to you boys, but perhaps you want to eat it up here." "Yeah, let's take a breather. This was a close call." Cliff opened a small tool bag that was hanging on the quad and pulled out another pair of orange ear protectors, if not the same as earlier. He turned the knob on them and put them on my head. Noise was sloshing around in my ears like waves breaking on a beach. Voices were whispering all around me. It was impossible to focus on a single voice and hear its message. Just a school of slippery tadpoles swimming around and around. Impossible to grab. Somewhere far in the distance I could hear Cliff talking.

"Let's go even harder with the programming. We don't need him cognisant for the rest of the day."

[ninibeingdelulu]

Beautiful, like the sky

synopsis: while you’re admiring the sky, Cloud is admiring you

The inky canvas stretched endlessly above you both - brilliant pinpricks of stardust twinkling against the deep indigo backdrop.

A gentle breeze whispers past, briefly rustling the tall blades cradling your forms before settling into a tranquil lull once more. You inhale deeply, allowing the crisp night air to fill your lungs as a serene smile blossoms across your lips.

Out of your peripheral vision, you catch the slightest shift of movement...followed by Cloud's unwavering stare burning into the side of your face with an intensity you've never quite encountered from the typically stoic swordsman before.

His piercing gaze seems to smolder straight down to your core in a manner that causes your pulse to quicken traitorously.

"Everything’s okay, Cloud?"

You tear your eyes from the celestial expanse to meet his head-on - tone laced with a teasing lilt despite the flush you can feel blossoming high on your cheekbones.

"You're looking at me like I just sprouted a second head or something."

The blonde ex-SOLDIER doesn't so much as flinch at being so blatantly called out. In fact, his scrutiny somehow manages intensifying further as those glowing mako irises roam every plane and delicate contour of your features with open reverence.

The way the moonbeams cast ethereal shadows across your skin...those rosy lips slightly parted on a breathy sigh...dark tendrils stirring in the zephyr's wake to frame your delicate visage...

You make for such an utterly breathtaking vision in this instant etched into nature's sublime backdrop; Cloud is momentarily robbed of coherent speech while simply basking in your radiance.

Like staring straight into the sun's dazzling corona without the obscuring filter of those polarized lenses he usually hides behind.

"I—" His usually gruff baritone emerges far hoarser and more tremulous than intended when he finally manages unclenching his jaw enough to speak.

Cloud's adam's apple visibly bobs along the taut column of his throat while he falters.

"Sorry, it's just...you look really pretty, sitting out here under the stars like this."

You can practically feel the tips of your ears scorching from the unexpected sincerity now coloring those words - all traces of his customary sarcasm or monosyllabic brusqueness utterly stripped away.

And the look of naked wonder creasing Cloud's brow as his full lips tug upwards into one of his increasingly frequent half-smiles is the final catalyst catalyzing your heart into an erratic gallop against your ribcage.

Whether emboldened by the secluded intimacy of this wee-hour respite from chaos or simply too transfixed by you in this instant to bother concealing his blatant regard any longer...in this sliver of peace suspended between one fraught breath and the next, your longtime comrade gazes upon you like the rarest jewel amidst the Planet's boundless treasures.

And there's no mistaking the way his eyes briefly drift down to linger on the inviting seam of your lips when you unconsciously sweep your tongue out to moisten them in anticipation.

Cloud blinks slowly as if awaking from a trance before hastily tearing his heated stare away - his cheeks now matching the vivid crimson of yours…

[justagalwhowrites]

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 3: Parents

You and Joel try to figure each other out and you and Ellie navigate your new relationship while you get ready to go to LA. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 2 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Remembered negligence by a parent. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 7.5k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Again.” 

You threw a punch at the sparring mitt on Joel’s hand. 

He shook his head once, tightening his jaw. You weren’t landing the blows well, something was holding you back. 

“C’mon, you got more in you than that,” he said, almost taunting you. “Again.” 

You yelled then and really pulled your fist back before swinging forward yet again. This time, though, it actually forced his arm to move some, making him recenter his weight as he tried to keep position. 

“There you go,” he said. “Keep doin’ that, let’s go.” 

“Seriously?” You panted, dripping sweat, your sports bra clinging somehow even tighter to your skin than it was before the workout started, something Joel was desperate to not pay attention to. “I feel like I’m about to die.” 

“Gotta build up that muscle,” he said. “Come on, Siren -” he said your code name like the taunt it was. “Hit me.” 

You really went after him then, wailing on the sparring mitts and coming for him hard and fast enough that it forced him to step back. 

“Better,” he said eventually and you lowered your hands, your chest heaving. “See? Knew you could do it.” 

“Yeah, turns out all it took was remembering what a dick you are,” you said, a teasing edge to your voice. “Way easier to want to punch you then.” 

“Ma’am?” Esmo’s voice appeared at the door to the pool house. “The car will be here in an hour.” 

“Thanks,” you panted, shucking your gloves and looking to Joel. “You all packed and ready?” 

“I’m ready,” he said. “Won’t have to worry about me.”

“You say that,” you said, putting the gloves away and grabbing your water bottle, chugging from it as you caught your breath. “But we’ll see how you do once we actually get to L.A.” 

“Don’t think it’s gonna be much of a challenge,” he said, even though he knew you were right. He just wasn’t about to say it. “Just don’t do anything stupid, we’ll be fine.” 

“Aw, now where’s the fun in that?” You asked, starting back toward the house. “You OK to get the kid?” 

“What if I said no?” He asked. “I’m not a damn chauffeur, you know.” 

“Sure about that?” You asked. “Because you beg to drive often enough…” 

“I got the kid,” he said. “Go do whatever air-headed shit you gotta do before you get on a plane.” 

You mouthed his words mockingly back at him as you made your way to your room and Joel made his way to the kitchen to get water for himself. 

Things with you had fallen into an almost surprising cadence in the week since his birthday and the conversation in your kitchen. 

It wasn’t that he liked you or anything as extreme as that. He’d just learned how to see you more as a person and less as the specter who haunted the wall of his daughter’s bedroom. You were still spoiled and overly opinionated and frustrating to no end but you were also oddly kind, sharply observant and a dedicated parent to a child who wasn’t yours to begin with. 

Even though your love and care for her was obvious, Ellie seemed to want to tiptoe around you for a few days after she got suspended. She avoided staying anywhere you were for too long, but Joel saw how you’d perk up when she came in and then visibly deflate when she left without saying much of anything at all to you. You tried to pretend like it didn’t bother you, even as you spent hours on the phone with the school trying to convince them to let Ellie come back early without saying why she’d picked a fight with that asshole boy to begin with. He didn’t buy it. 

Eventually, you wore the school down, and Ellie only missed two full days of classes. She just didn’t seem all that eager to return when she climbed in the car for Joel to drop her off the morning she went back. 

“You ready for school?” He asked eventually, glancing her way, trying not to think of navigating conversations like this with Sarah. There were points in time where he could tell something was bothering her but prying would just make it worse so he asked the innocuous questions in hopes she’d give him something - anything - to work with. 

“I guess,” she shrugged, staring determinedly out the window. 

“Want to tell me what’s on your mind?” He asked eventually when she didn’t give him anything else to work with. 

She sighed heavily. 

“I just…” she looked at Joel, her small hands twisting around themselves on her lap. “I know that stupid fucking boy is going to keep saying that shit. What do I do? I know, I know, I can’t hit him. Even though I should be able to fucking hit him.” 

Joel tried not to laugh at that. He didn’t entirely disagree. 

“He scare easy, you think?” He asked, glancing over to Ellie. 

“He seems like a little bitch,” she replied. “So yeah, probably. Why?” 

He shrugged, coming up with a plan. Or a semblance of one, anyway. 

When he got to the school, he didn’t go to the drop off line. Instead, he parked and got out, Ellie frowning as he did. 

“Show me this kid,” he said, nodding for her to lead the way. 

She scanned the crowed for a second before she found him, leaning against the side of the building, looking like he was vaping before the day started. 

“There he is,” she narrowed her eyes at him. “Fucking asshole.” 

“C’mon,” he said, walking up the hill toward the school, keeping an eye out for any teachers or parents who might cause any trouble. “We’ll handle it.” 

Ellie kept up, her much smaller legs needing to almost jog to keep pace with his longer, purposeful stride. Thankfully, the kid was trying to stay out of sight, making Joel’s plan a lot easier. 

The kid was, as it happened, also cocky as hell. 

“Well look who’s back,” he said, shoving back off the wall and not seeming to care that Joel was there. The fog from the vape reeked of pot. “What, your whore mom get them to let you out of your cage early?” 

“You motherfucker!” Ellie lunged for him but Joel held her back. She looked up at him, indignant, but he focused on the kid in front of him. He barely came up to Joel’s chin, maybe 16 years old and suddenly seemingly aware that he’d picked a fight with someone who wasn’t smaller than him. Joel stepped closer, squaring his shoulders, letting himself tower over the kid. He gulped, almost comically so, and stepped back until he was against the wall again. 

“We got a problem here,” Joel said. 

“I.. I don’t…” the kid stammered, but Joel cut him off. 

“Don’t remember askin’ you a damn thing, you little shit,” he said. “I said, we got a problem here. And that problem is you. Now, see, I don’t take too kindly for assholes like you causin’ problems for my people and Ellie here is one of my people. You may not know it but it’s my job to make sure she don’t have problems so you being one… well, that’s an issue, ain’t it?” 

The kid was silent. 

“That was a question,” Joel said, staring him down. “Answer it.” 

“Yes sir,” he said quickly. 

“Good boy,” Joel said using the same tone he would a dog who’d misbehaved. “The way I look at it, we got two ways to handle a problem. We can remove it or we can resolve it. I got all kinds of ways I can remove a problem but resolving it is easier. I like easier. Which would you rather I do?” 

The kid was silent, his eyes darting. 

“Answer. The. Question.” 

“Re…resolve it,” he said, shrinking lower on the wall. 

“Good,” Joel said. “That means, you stop talking shit. You don’t look at her, you don’t talk to her, you don’t talk to anyone else about her, you understand?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“You’re gonna treat her and her family with respect,” Joel considered. “And you’re gonna keep your thoughts - and hands - to yourself. I hear about any other shit like that comin’ out of this school? I’m going to assume it’s coming from you and I’m going to assume you’re a problem that can’t be resolved. That means you’re one that needs to be removed. Do you want me to remove you?” 

“No sir.” 

“What was that?” Joel asked, even though he’d heard him perfectly fine. 

“No sir,” he said, a little louder that time. 

“Good,” he said again. “Now apologize to Ellie.” 

His eyes darted to Ellie and back to Joel. 

“But…” 

“This ain’t a debate,” Joel growled. “Apologize. Now.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly to Ellie. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean any of it, I’m really sorry, I won’t say any of that shit again, I promise!” 

“Good,” Joel said. “Tell anyone about this and I’ll make sure they know about this little vaping habit of yours. Don’t think Texas takes too kindly to drug use, regardless of who your damn daddy is. Remember what I said about problems. Don’t become one and I won’t need to treat you like one. Do I make myself clear?” 

“Yes sir.” 

Joel gave him one final up and down, almost surprised to not find piss staining the front of his pants when he did. He looked back at Ellie. 

“Should get you to class,” he said. “C’mon.” 

He guided Ellie away from the kid and toward the sidewalk and she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut until they were out of earshot. 

“That was so fucking cool,” she was damn near beaming up at Joel. 

“He bothers you again, tell me,” he said, stopping to face her before she made her way to the front door of the school. “I’ll handle it.” 

“Would you beat him up?” She asked, her eyes lighting up. 

He made a face. 

“He’s a fuckin’ kid,” he said. “I don’t hurt kids. But he don’t need to know that. So let me know and don’t go trying to handle shit yourself again, OK kid?” 

“OK,” she said, giving him a firm nod. “Thanks, Joel.” 

He just gave her a nod back and watched her go into the school, staring down the kid still cowering against the wall as he made his way back to the car. 

Ellie started spending more and more time with Joel after that. He took her to and from school almost every day and it only took a few days for her to start talking to him. 

He didn’t invite it, not really, it just kind of happened. It started with her throwing her book bag in the back seat with a little too much force and sighing heavily and Joel’s latent fatherly instinct kicked in before he realized what he was doing. 

“Everything OK?” He asked, raising her brows and glancing toward her as he made his way around other cars picking up kids as the school day ended. She just looked at him, incredulous, until he shrugged. “Don’t take a genius to see something’s goin’ on. That kid give you more trouble?” 

“No,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. He was quiet, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel, giving her room to sit in the silence. And then she sighed. “It was another kid. Said some shitty stuff.” 

“Shitty stuff like what.”

“Just stuff,” she said, clenching her jaw before deflating. “I just… I don’t think I want to talk about it yet.” 

“Well,” Joel said. “Here when you do. Know your aunt is, too.” 

“Yeah, I know,” she said, watching Joel for a moment. “Want to kill some shit when we get home?” 

“Assuming you’re talkin’ about in one of those damn games…” 

“Duh,” she said. “Don’t think I’m allowed to do it in real life even though some people fucking deserve it.” 

Joel tried to keep from smiling at that. The kid had a mouth on her. He shouldn’t encourage it, he knew that. He shouldn’t encourage her spending time with him, either. But something in him liked that she sought him out, that she felt like he was someone who was safe, someone she could confide in. 

“Sure,” he said. “We can kill some shit.” 

“Fuck yeah.” 

“Hey,” he said. “Language.” 

And he watched as she rolled her eyes good naturedly, a small smile tugging at her mouth. Knowing he made her feel a little better tugged at him, too. He tried to remind himself that he wasn’t supposed to care. You and her were a job, nothing more. Caring about either of you was stupid at best, a liability at worst. It was best to keep his distance. 

He played the video games, anyway. 

Joel watched as things softened with you and Ellie in the week that followed and then, eventually, as he was having coffee before taking Ellie to school and you were sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, reading something on your iPad while eating avocado toast with a cup of coffee - because of course you ate fucking avocado toast - she sat next to you, plopping her backpack down on the open chair on the other side of her. 

You set the iPad down gently and gave yourself the excuse to do it by using both hands to pick up the toast, taking a small bite and chewing slowly before picking up your coffee with both hands next so the iPad wasn’t a distraction. 

“So,” Ellie said eventually. “You have that movie coming out soon, right?” 

“I do,” you said, looking over at her and smiling just a little. 

“Probably have to go do all that promotional shit soon, huh?” She asked, brows raised. 

You nodded. 

“Next week,” you said. “You’re going to go stay with your grandmother while I’m back in LA.” 

She nodded slowly. 

“Are you going to be doing the TV shows and shit?” She asked. 

“Some,” you said. “Doing a few days of interviews for different outlets and then I’ll be on Jimmy Kimmel the day before the premiere.” 

“Remember that time you were the voice of the cartoon duck when I was little?” She asked, smiling bigger. “You brought me and Mom to the premiere?” 

You laughed a little. 

“Yeah, you didn’t want to wear a skirt then either,” you said. “You were like seven and you insisted on wearing jeans on the red carpet.” 

Ellie laughed, too. 

“I liked that movie,” Ellie said. “It was good.” 

“I’m glad,” you smiled at her. “I made it for you.” 

She smiled tightly, the two of you watching each other for a moment. 

“Maybe we can watch it together when you get back?” She asked. “Haven’t seen it in a while.” 

“Yeah,” you smiled. “I’d like to that.”

“Cool,” she said as Esmo set a breakfast sandwich in front of her.

Esmo gave Joel a look, a death glare that told him to keep his mouth shut lest he disturb the delicate dance happening at the breakfast bar as the two of you ate side by side in silence, neither of you looking at the other but also not at any phone or tablet. 

Eventually, when Joel knew he was going to have to get Ellie loaded into the car, she broke the silence. 

“Hey Sissy?” She said, looking at you hesitantly. 

“What’s up kiddo?” You asked, watching her with a gentle smile on your face. 

“I…” Ellie paused, looking to the side for a moment and taking a deep breath before facing you again. “It really fucking sucked when my mom died. Even though we knew it was coming it still really, really, really fucking sucked. But as bad as it was… I know it would have been a whole lot worse if you weren’t here. I’m really glad I’m not doing this shit on my own.” 

Even from his place near the coffee maker, Joel could see you starting to tear up as you reached out and cupped her cheek. 

“I’ll always be here for you,” you said, voice wet. “You’ll never be on your own.” 

“I know,” she said. “I just… wanted you to know. That I know.” 

You smiled. 

“Thanks, kiddo,” you said. “Have a good day at school, OK?” 

“Thanks,” she smiled. “Have a good day doing… whatever it is famous people do.” 

You snorted and Joel got Ellie to school, the uncomfortable tension that had been in the air in the house since the day of the fight fading. 

It was a relief for Joel, too. He tried not to think about why, instead deciding that he was happy that he didn’t need to try and tiptoe around you and Ellie anymore. He’d felt oddly uncomfortable, knowing that you were hurting. He found himself trying to avoid picking at you the way he usually did, any small, cruel pleasure he took from it nowhere to be found when he knew you were actually miserable. 

He wasn’t sure why he cared. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know why he cared. Now, things could go back to normal. 

And they did. Mostly. 

You still did the exact opposite of what he asked you to do whenever possible. You still went for coffee at the local coffee shop at least once a week, the one you’d gone to so much that Joel was certain the girl behind the counter knew who you were. You still went grocery shopping yourself. One day, when you apparently wanted to send him into a blind rage, you drove to a public park and got out of the car without saying a word. 

“Hey!” Joel yelled, jogging to catch up to you as you stretched a little, jogging in place as you did. 

“Yes, Big Miller?” You asked, brows raised, that stupid baseball cap that you pretended like protected you from everything under the sun pulled low over your face. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” He asked, his hands on his hips, jaw squared. 

“Going for a run,” you said, as though this were the most typical thing in the world. 

Which, if you weren’t the most famous woman in the world, it would be. That just wasn't the case. Not with you. 

“Not out in public you ain’t,” he said. “Back in the car. Now.” 

“Back in the car. Now,” you said, puffing your cheeks out mockingly. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t feel like running on a treadmill today, it’s finally not 115 degrees outside, I’m going for a run in the park. Keep up if you want, sit in the car if you don’t, it’s really no skin off my back either way.” 

You started at a jog down the path before Joel had a chance to argue. He just growled, following along behind you, sweating through his t-shirt and jeans and wishing he was in his gym shoes instead of his fucking work boots. He glared as he passed other people on the trail, each of them looking at him like he was some kind of crazy person. 

“See, was that so bad?” You asked, panting for breath, your skin covered in a sheen of sweat as you made it back to the car. He snatched the keys from your hand and stalked to the driver’s door as you laughed. “God, you’re so sensitive! Such a baby…” 

So the next day - when you decided to go to fucking Target in the middle of the afternoon after going to the dentist - Joel had had just about enough. 

“No,” he said as you pulled into the parking lot. “Absolutely not.” 

“Well that’s unfortunate for you,” you said, ignoring him and getting out of the car, anyway. 

But Joel was ready for you this time, catching you as you came around the trunk of your SUV, making you jump. “What are you… Hey!” 

He ignored you, looping an arm around your waist and forcing you back as you beat uselessly at his chest. He wrestled the back door open and forced you unceremoniously into the back seat before he climbed in the driver’s seat and pushed the button to activate the child locks. 

“What the fuck!” You protested, pulling helplessly at the door handle. 

“Act like a fuckin’ child and I treat you like a fuckin’ child,” he said. “No reason for you to go to fucking Target. Already went to the store this week, don’t need any more of this shit from you.” 

“You realize that I pay you, right?” You snapped, leaning between the driver and passenger seats to scowl at him. “I’m literally your boss, you can’t just manhandle me into my own fucking car because you’re in a mood!” 

“Actually, pretty sure your manager signs the checks to my brother’s business,” Joel said, fighting the urge to smirk about it. “Studio, too. Think that makes them my boss, not you. Besides, I’m paid to worry about your safety which means I don’t gotta listen to you.

“You’ve been lucky that no one has really noticed that you live here yet but all it takes is one asshole with their goddamn cell phone camera out sharing your photo to one of those damn magazines and you’ll get swarmed everywhere you go,” he continued. “That what you want? These idiots following you everywhere? Following Ellie everywhere? You want your damn stalker showing up at your door?” 

You sat back in a huff, crossing your arms and glaring out the window. 

“Then maybe you should fucking listen to me,” he said. “Know what I’m talking about.” 

“Such an asshole,” you muttered and Joel smirked. 

This relationship with you he knew. This, he could handle. 

But he still found himself walking a strange line with you as the two of you worked on your fight skills together. Spending a few hours with you every day, showing you how to move your body, your body that was barely covered by those tight little gym outfits. He might loathe those as much as he loathed needing to be around you. 

Because, when all was said and done, he couldn’t ignore the fact that you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. It was disorienting, even after being around you as much as he was, to see you and recognize that you were real, that you really were just that beautiful. 

It wasn’t even that he was attracted to you, he told himself, the fact that you were beautiful was just a fact. Anyone could see it, even him in his deadened state. The fact that his heart beat faster when your hand brushed his skin was just biology. He was just a man, of course he’d have some sort of physical reaction around someone who looked like you. 

He tried not to think about needing to be in close quarters with you in new territory over the next few days, about what strange feeling he’d been sure was long dead would awaken in him then. 

At least he could still put you through your paces. 

Joel came home from picking up Ellie just as the car taking the two of you to the airport pulled up outside. Joel loaded his bags into the trunk of the car, waving off the pushy chauffeur as you herded Ellie to the car with all her bags. 

“And you have the charger for your Switch?” You asked, your arm around Ellie’s shoulders. 

“Yes,” Ellie rolled her eyes. 

“And your laptop for school?” You asked. “Because you can’t get out of homework just because you don’t have it…” 

“I have it,” she said. “And I have like 20 pairs of clean underwear and a toothbrush and…” 

“And your phone?” You asked. 

She looked at you, incredulous. 

“Duh.” 

You laughed and gave her a squeeze. 

“Alright,” you said. “Let’s get you dropped off so me and Big Miller can get out of here.” 

Ellie snorted. 

“Yeah, you and Big Miller need to go do movie star shit,” she said, getting in the back of the car with you, Esmo giving her bags to the chauffeur. “Don’t want to hold up such important things.” 

“Alright, Siren,” Joel said. “Let’s go.” 

The three of you went to Ellie’s grandmother’s house and she almost tackled her, you getting out and greeting her with a warm hug, too. 

“Hey Mom,” you smiled. “Thanks for taking our trouble maker here.” 

“Try and stop me from hanging out with my favorite granddaughter,” she smiled. 

“I’m your only granddaughter,” Ellie rolled her eyes but smiled all the same. 

“Have time to come in for a few?” She asked. “Introduce me to this tall, dark and handsome man you brought to my door? I’m Elise, by the way.” 

“Oh that’s just Big Miller,” Ellie said, smirking. 

“Big Miller?” She frowned down at her before looking at you. “What’s a Big Miller?” 

“He’s the security guard I mentioned before,” you said. “And I’m afraid we have a plane to catch.” 

“Don’t they wait for you these days?” She teased. 

“Not when you fly commercial,” you teased a little back. “But I’ll be back in a few days. Let me know if you need anything.” You turned your attention to Ellie. “Behave yourself, alright?” 

“She always behaves,” Elise said. “Which is why I get to load her up with sugar before she goes home.” 

“Hell yeah!” Ellie said before looking back to you. “I’ll be good, Sissy. Promise.” 

You seemed satisfied but were still slow to get back in the car, giving another final round of hugs before getting back in. 

“Directly to the airport, ma’am?” The chauffeur asked. 

“Please,” you said, watching out the window as Ellie and Elise headed into the house. 

Joel found himself checking on you in the rearview mirror as you made your way to Intercontinental in Houston, a recommendation of Joel’s you’d actually heeded. 

“It’s a bigger airport,” he’d said. “Less likely for people to notice you and, if they do, they got no reason to think you live in Austin. Extra layer of security.” 

You did your makeup - something he didn’t like noticing - and then kept mouthing words to yourself as you kept your nose buried in an iPad. 

“What are you doin’?” He asked eventually and you looked up, your eyes meeting his in the mirror and he tried to ignore how fucking pretty you were when your makeup was done. Didn’t seem possible that you could get any damn prettier but of course you found a way. 

“Trying to get off book for the chemistry reads I have tomorrow morning,” you said. 

Joel frowned and twisted around to face you. 

“The fuck does that mean.” 

You smiled a little and he felt a twinge in his chest, one he resented. 

“It means I want to have my lines memorized before I need to read them with some people who are kind of auditioning tomorrow,” you said. “It’s not required or expected but I like being able to really focus on the person I’m working with and be a good scene partner. There are a few up and comers, it can be intimidating being in a room and reading with someone like me. I want to make sure they’ve got everything I can give them to do well.” 

He just grunted, facing forward again as you got closer to the airport. He hated when you did shit like that, something that seemed kind and thoughtful. He didn’t want to think of you as that type of person, it made him uncomfortable and it was worse when he knew he was about to be closer than usual to you over the next few days. It was easier to keep his distance from you when you were a spoiled brat. When you were nice or observant or, heaven forbid, vulnerable, he was keenly aware of the effect you had on him, on the way he wanted to look at your too perfect face and feel your fingers on his skin. It was an effect he needed to get over. You were a job. Nothing more. 

There was a team of people waiting for you at the airport, half a dozen of them damn near swarming the car as the driver pulled up to the curb. 

“So it begins,” you said, an ominous note in your voice before you plastered a smile on your face as someone opened the door for you. 

The team ushered you through the process of getting you into the airport quickly, apparently desperate to avoid the disruption that would come with your presence if you were noticed. Your bags had been sent ahead earlier in the day and someone in a suit took your tote bag with your iPad and laptop and book and rushed it ahead to security as someone else finalized both you and Joel’s check in on the flight. 

“I got a firearm in that bag,” Joel said as someone took his luggage from him. He turned to someone in a suit next to him, one who was paying far more attention to you than to him. “Hey, that OK? They hear me about the gun? Really don’t want to get to fuckin’ California and not have my side arm…” 

“I’ll make sure there are no issues,” the man said, giving Joel a tight smile 

They moved both of you to the front of the TSA line, the check seeming more cursory than anything for you, at least. They still gave Joel a full pat down, one that strayed a little too close to his crotch than he was pleased with, giving the agent a death glare until they pulled their hand away. Then, in another flurry of people in suits, the two of you were ushered into one of the fancy fucking airport lounges Joel had always walked past but never even dreamed of going inside, tucking you away in a private corner with a reserved sign on the table, a server immediately rushing to take your order. The whole process took maybe 10 minutes, you with a glass of white wine as you folded yourself back into the corner of the couch, settling in with your iPad in your hand again. 

Joel scoffed derisively. This shit was almost heaven sent, a reminder of just how easy life was for someone like you. Exactly the thing he needed to remember that you weren’t just some pretty face, that it must be easy to be fucking nice when everyone was waiting on you hand and foot all the time. 

“Yes?” You asked, brows raised as you lowered the tablet. 

“It always that easy for you?” He asked. “Just everyone takin’ care of all the hard shit, no lines, no dealing with authorities, just stroll right on through?” 

You laughed a little, shaking your head. 

“It’s easy here because no one was looking for me,” you said. “Wait until we get to LAX, then we’ll talk.” 

“What makes you think it’ll bad?” He asked. 

“Well, someone on the flight is going to notice me,” you said. “They always do. They’ll tweet about it, probably with a picture they didn’t ask my permission to take, and then half the paparazzi in LA will show up, ready to catch me looking tired and cranky after a flight because I haven’t given them shit in months and, unfortunately, my picture sells.” 

“And it’s really gonna be that quick,” he said, skeptical, his brows raised. 

“Oh, definitely,” you said. “And it’ll be like that the whole time I’m in LA, there will always be a photographer right on my ass, all day every day. Quinn tipped them off to a few places I’ll be so they will hopefully calm down otherwise but yeah, it’ll get crazy. The good news is, the people in LA are used to it. They see movie stars every day. There will always be a few tourists or super fans who come up but it’s not too bad, just the photographers are rough.” 

He nodded slowly, processing. He’d worked closely with Tommy in the week leading up to this, coordinating with a security team in LA. You’d have a driver, other people besides him on hand in situations that might be dicey or where more people would know where you were but Joel was still going to be your body man. He just wasn’t sure exactly what to expect once he was on the ground. He’d never dealt with paparazzi, at least not in fucking Los Angeles. 

You finished working on your lines after a while, putting your iPad aside and just looking around the small parts of the lounge you could see from the corner where they’d put you. 

“Can I ask you somethin’?” Joel asked after a while, curiosity nagging at him. 

“Sure,” you shrugged, trying not to look taken aback. “What’s up?” 

“Ellie’s grandma,” he said slowly, trying to figure out how to word it. “Seems like you’re closer to her than your mother.” 

“That’s because I am,” you said. “And that wasn’t a question.” 

He gave you a look and you laughed once. 

“I guess I was just… I didn’t know why that was,” he said. “Was wondering.” 

You considered Joel for a moment. 

“This falls under your NDA,” you said. “Just so we’re clear.” 

“Course,” he said. 

“Do you know much about my career?” You asked, adjusting in your seat as you did. 

He shrugged. 

“A little. Know you’ve got an Oscar for some movie I never fuckin’ saw. Know that show you were on, Siren, of course.” 

You nodded slowly. 

“Well, I was ‘discovered’ when I was five,” you said. Joel’s brows shot up. “I was in line at the grocery store with my mother and a modeling agent saw me there. According to her, he practically signed me on the spot and I started working right away. I don’t remember it well. The work was just catalogue at first, nothing crazy. Then I started doing commercials… by the time I was seven I was on my first TV show.” 

Joel frowned at that. 

“What show?” 

“That sitcom Family Tree?” You said it like it was a question. “It aired in the 90s and the early 2000s, I was the precocious baby of the family. Cute, smart ass, that sort of thing.” 

“Oh shit,” Joel laughed. “That was you? Jesus, I remember watching that show with my parents…” 

You smiled a little. 

“Yeah, that was me,” you said. “My first big job. I met Elise and Anna, Ellie’s mom, on that job. Elise was the tutor for the kids on the show, we basically had our own little school with the five of us. She brought Anna to set one day and we hit it off… Anyway, the point of this is, my mother was my manager. I was on that show for 10 years and I was doing movies, too. My mother was in charge of all of it. She handled my contracts, publicity, all the money… that was the real problem.

“She stopped seeing me as her daughter pretty early, I think,” you continued. “Probably hard to see the person making you rich as your child, not when all you want is to get more money. More, more, more, she was never happy with it. She would throw me at any job that was offered as long as it paid, no real direction to my career for years, not until I started to be old enough to have some of my own damn artistic vision. But… well, she handled the money, every cent I made and boy did she handle it, handled it right out the door.” 

“Jesus,” Joel blinked back his shock. 

You shrugged. 

“I figured out what was going on when I was about 14,” you said. “By then, I’d been working almost 10 years and I didn’t have a damn penny to show for it. In fact, I owed the IRS a shit ton of money because she hadn’t paid taxes, either. It was a disaster because I was suddenly without a manager, penniless, in a legal shit show and I needed to find someone else to be my guardian because lord knew I couldn’t stay with my mother after that. I tried to make a go of it on my own - I thought it would have been easier, it felt like I’d been taking care of myself for long enough anyway - but, when I was through the worst of the financial stuff, I went to live with Elise.” 

You laughed a little and Joel wasn’t sure why, none of this shit was funny. 

“She was so pissed at first,” you said. “She didn’t say it at the time, of course, she didn’t tell me any of this until I was in my 20s but she was furious I hadn’t come to her right away. She’d already been looking out for me more than my mother ever did, she seemed to know that my mother wasn’t doing anything to take care of me. She had me spend the night with Anna all the time, she was always checking to make sure that I was safe on set - more than I can say for a lot of other kids who have worked in this industry, let me tell you. She was always there for me. I just was afraid that, if she took me in when I had nothing at all, she’d somehow end up on the hook for all the money my mother and I owed everyone. I did an action movie with some stupid, bloated budget when they needed some smart alec teenager to play the kid of the hero and waited for that check to clear. It was enough to cover almost everything I needed to pay back and then I felt like it was OK to go to her and tell her everything. So, as far as I’m concerned? Elise is my mom. The woman who gave birth to me just happens to share my DNA and not much else. I’ll take care of her, check in on her, make sure she has everything she needs for a comfortable life, but that’s it. She is not my mom.” 

Joel watched you for a moment, just processing. Without meaning to, he pictured Sarah at 14 - just a year before she’d died - and she was still a kid, just a kid. He pictured her trying to navigate a world that was cold and cruel and cared nothing for her safety without anyone to help her and his blood got hot, his fingers clenching a little tighter, his jaw setting a little firmer. 

You frowned at him, cocking your head at him as though he were a curiosity. 

“What?” 

“Nothin’,” he said eventually, sitting back in his chair and looking back out at the room, watching for potential threats against the shockingly human thing that was you. “Just didn’t expect that is all.” 

Someone came and got the two of you for the flight, when boarding was winding down and you wouldn’t need to stand there and wait with all the other mere mortals and Joel was able to tuck that odd feeling down low inside him again. It didn’t matter that you’d once been a vulnerable kid hung out to dry, you’d clearly done just fine for yourself. He didn’t need to think about you that way. It wouldn’t make a difference now, anyway. 

The two of you were seated in the front row and, for the first 20 minutes or so of the flight, Joel started to think that you might have been wrong. You’d kept your head down and folded yourself into the window seat as quickly as possible, not giving anyone much of a chance to look at your face. Maybe no one would really notice you, maybe you would be able to make it out of the airport on the other side with no one the wiser. 

And then some asshole heading back to his seat from the bathroom froze, his jaw dropping when he saw you. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed. 

You smiled a small, almost amused smile. 

“Hi,” you said. 

“You’re not…” he said, looking around the rest of first class like he might have been crazy. The man across the aisle for Joel leaned forward, peering around him as he frowned. 

“Afraid so,” you scrunched your nose in a way that Joel was sure was meant to cute and charming and probably was to everyone else but, to him, it was just enraging. 

“Holy shit,” he said again, stepping in front of Joel as if he wasn’t there at all. “I loved you in Fast Track! That one chase sequence where you were driving backwards was so cool, how did they do that? I read you did your own driving, is that true?” 

“I did some of my own driving,” you laughed lightly. “But I didn’t drive much there, we had a stunt driver that actually faced backwards in the car and drove when we were in reverse. I did drive the forward facing parts of that sequence, though. I’m glad you liked it.” 

“Can I get a selfie?” The guy asked, already pulling out his phone before you even had a chance to say no. “My best friend is in love with you, he’s going to freak out, he had your poster on the wall of our dorm freshman year.” 

Joel was about to tell him to fuck off but you were unbuckling your seat belt. 

“Sure,” you said, getting up and standing next to him so he could take the picture. You smiled and looked far more beautiful than anyone sitting on a plane had any right to be and Joel gritted his teeth. “What’s your name?” 

“Sean,” he said, still looking at you like he wasn’t sure you were real. 

“Lovely to meet you, Sean,” you said. “Tell your friend I said hi.” 

He went back to his seat and you sat back down and Joel couldn’t help but notice the way your fingers tightened on the end of the arm rest, as though you could dig your nails into the plastic if you just tried hard enough. It was the only indication that anything was wrong. If he hadn’t been around you so much over the last few weeks, he’d never have noticed but now, it seemed impossible not to. 

Sean, it seemed, opened the floodgates. People started cautiously approaching, all talking to you, all awed by you, all asking for selfies that you obliged with a smile. You answered questions patiently, signed napkins, took a video where you said hi to someone’s wife. All the while, Joel ground his teeth while people damn near sat on his lap while they waited to get a moment with you. 

Eventually, a flight attendant got fed up and made an announcement. 

“Everyone, we understand that we have a high profile passenger on board,” she said. “While I’m sure this is very exciting for some of you, we still need to maintain safe travel conditions while in route to Los Angeles. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened so flight attendants can do their jobs and you’re not hurt by unexpected turbulence. Thank you.” 

Joel could have kissed her as everyone reluctantly made their way back to their seats and you visibly relaxed, leaning your head back and closing your eyes, taking a deep breath as you did. 

“You alright?” Joel asked, keeping his voice low. 

You opened one eye, looking at him quizzically before closing it again. 

“Fine,” you said. “Just ready to get to LA.” 

Joel kept his eyes and ears open the rest of the flight, hearing your name come up in hushed whispers from all around them. He heard the snap of a cellphone camera shutter and looked around, glowering, for the culprit but never spotted them. Joel searched your name on Twitter. You were trending, pictures of you being rushed through airport security earlier and from the plane everywhere while everyone under the sun tried to figure out what the fuck you’d been doing in Houston, Texas, to begin with. 

When the plane landed, the flight attendant let you and Joel off first to avoid the threat of chaos as you made your way quickly toward arrivals. 

But you paused, just shy of the end of the secured area, staring it down the sliding doors as though they were an opponent. 

“We doin’ this or not?” Joel asked, probably gruffer than he should have. 

“We are,” you said, not looking at him. “I’m just… saying goodbye to the quiet life I’ve had the last few months. I’m going to miss it.” 

You didn’t wait for him to respond. Instead, you just made for the security doors, greeted by a sea of cameras as the chaos of your existence in Los Angeles welcomed you home. 

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you for being patient with this series! I've started graduate school so everything I care about seems to get put on the back burner anymore. I hope you enjoyed it, anyway.

This LA arc I am SUPER excited for. Get ready to learn so so SO much more about Siren and Joel both as things ramp up in the City of Angels.

Also, sending some love to one of my besties (who does NOT read my fic but does know I write it) who answered the arbitrary questions I had about the Houston airports. She's the best.

Thank you for choosing to spend your time with my work! Love you!

Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler @lilyevanstan1325 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @wintersquirrel @missladym1981 @mellymbee @canthinkof1user

[goldencuffs]

afterglow

inspired by the spectral files series by s.e. harmon!!

The ghost appears in his office after Damen comes back from his lunch break. 

Damen’s had a rough week already. The free pad thai in his belly right now is literally the best thing that’s happened to him in months. That’s not even an exaggeration.

The ghost in his office has been around before. He showed up a few weeks ago, at the start of summer, his expression boyish, sunny, hands in his pockets as he’d surveyed Damen’s office with visible interest. Then he had followed Damen to the kitchen and watched him make tea. And then he had pulled faces last Tuesday, during their morning briefings, gagging at the photos of Victor Reynold’s dismembered body. 

“I smell Thai,” the ghost says now. He’s pouting. “I want Thai. I love Thai food.” 

Damen ignores him, sitting behind his desk and logging into his computer. It’s only twelve in the afternoon. Damen wants to throw himself off the ledge of the building. 

The ghost struts about his office, still talking, listing off the other cuisines he loves (Mexican, Indian, Lebanese, Italian) as Damen pretends to read his latest case notes.

“Not going to lie though, definitely shat myself when I had that. I’m talking blocked pipes and everything.” The ghost shakes his head. “Man, that was a rough weekend.”

Damen sighs. 

The ghost perks up. “I know you can see me, man. You always get that face when I’m talking to you.”

Damen picks up a pen, just so he has something to do. So he can school his face into something more neutral. 

Of course Damen can see the ghost. He sees ghosts all the time. He’s seen them since he was seven years old. As a kid, he didn’t know the children he would play with were dead until Nikandros’ foot had gone through the football they were kicking around. 

Since then, Damen’s seen them everywhere. There was a widow who used to hang around Kastor’s old place, shrilly telling him off for painting the kitchen the wrong colour. Kastor had moved out three weeks after Damen had told him that. 

Most of the time, ghosts leave him alone. Sometimes they get excited when they realise he can see them. Sometimes they just want to talk. Some of them have harmless requests, like messages they want to pass on to a loved one.

And sometimes there are ghosts like the ones in his office, who don’t seem to have anywhere to go, who only seem to be attached to him.

The last ghost like that had been Aimeric Gaul, this skinny, baby-faced kid who had sad, wide eyes. He could only go where Damen could, and kept mentioning how much he missed his mother. 

Three months into watching Aimeric cry in the corner of his office, Damen had driven down to Fortaine to see his mother. Aimeric had sat in the front seat, wide-eyed as he watched the rolling landscape.

When Damen had told Aimeric’s mother that he had a message from her dead son, her husband had pointed a gun to his forehead and said, Get the fuck off my property.

Damen was placed on suspension after that.

So, yeah. He’s wary of the ghosts like this—the ones that are, inevitably, drawn to him. They’re the ones that cause trouble. 

Damen’s been through enough, thanks. He’s only just back from his suspended time off, and Jokaste has cleared the last of her things from their place, and sometimes he still panics when he can’t find the ring on his left hand, until he remembers that it’s shoved in a drawer in his closet. 

The ghost is still talking. “You know what I really miss though? Dumplings. Highly underrated, man. When’s the last time you had one? Take it from me—have as many dumplings as you can while you’re still alive. ‘Cause, one day you’re gonna be dead, and there’s no fucking dumplings here. Which is shit if you think about it, the least—”

Damen’s phone rings. He picks it up, glad for the distraction. 

Makedon’s voice is no-nonsense. “My office, now. Bring coffee.” And then he hangs up. 

Damen deliberately doesn’t bring the coffee. Makedon frowns at him, but doesn’t say anything else. 

He pushes a file towards him. “Welcome back, kid. Latest cold case is all yours.”

Damen groans. “Seriously? You’re assigning me to cold cases? What about Reynold’s murder? I hear they need more manpower.”

“Nah.” Makedon shakes his head. “Don’t think you’re in the right headspace for all that shit.” 

“That shit?” Damen repeats, frowning. “You mean, my job?”

Makedon stares at him for a few beats. “This is part of your job too, detective. Everyone gets assigned cold cases every now and then.”

“Bullshit,” Damen snaps. “You haven’t assigned me a real case in months, even before—” And here, he falters, too ashamed to bring up Aimeric. 

Makedon isn’t a soft man. Everything about him is rigid and unmoveable. But he does relax his shoulders a little. 

“This isn’t just about what happened in Fortaine. When’s the last time you slept, kid?”

Damen frowns.

“Yeah, exactly. Divorce ain’t easy, and it’s clearly been affecting you more than you realise. You’re so… angry all the time. You clocked the new intern so badly last week, he had to go home early.”

Damen sighs, heart twisting a little. Yeah, okay, yelling at Erasmus in front of everyone hadn’t been a good move, but Damen had his reasons.

…He just can’t remember them right now. 

“Work the case with Huet,” Makedon continues, “He’s good company, and isn’t afraid to step up.” 

Damen snatches the file. “Whatever,” he mutters darkly. “What’s the case?”

Makedon sighs. “Some kid drove himself into a lake about a decade ago. Was conclusively claimed as a suicide at the time, but his brother’s statement is pretty interesting, suggests foul play.”

Damen’s eyebrows raise. “Murder?”

Makedon shrugs. “The brother was thirteen at the time, and very close with the victim. So it could be an emotional thing. But…”

“But?”

“He pointed fingers at their uncle. Claimed he had strong evidence it could be a murder, but no one really looked into it too closely.”

“Hmm,” Damen says. “So, what, we’re supposed to go on the word of a teenager?”

“A very persistent teenager. Have a look—he’s called at least several times a year to see if the case has been reopened.”

“No shit,” Damen says in surprise. “He actually share any of this evidence, though? Or tell us why the uncle could be the perpetrator?” 

“That’s your job to find out.” Makedon yawns. “Where’s my fucking coffee?”

But Damen doesn’t pay attention to him. The first page of the case file is a headshot of the victim. 

Damen knows that face. He just left him in his office.

***

Auguste Henri Revere is—was—twenty-five when he died. 

He was incredibly popular, well-liked, and good at pretty much everything he did. Damen reads everything in his file: football captain, scholarship student at Arles University, part-time volunteer at the children’s hospital…

He doesn’t seem like the guy who would kill himself. Then again, the worst part about this job has always been that people can surprise you—in the worst ways possible. 

Nothing about his death is suspicious. It happened close to midnight, near a popular stretch of road in the city centre. There were several witnesses that saw a cream 1972 Ford Mustang veer off the road, straight into the lake. Police found a suicide note typed on Auguste’s laptop. He had cleaned his room the night before, donated things like clothes, jewellery, and sneakers. 

Damen reads what Laurent Gabriel Revere said. Now that statement is strange. Laurent was thirteen when Auguste died. Sources say they were close, that Auguste doted on him, especially since they were orphans, living with their uncle. Two years after Auguste died, Laurent showed up at the police station and accused their uncle of killing Auguste. He claimed he had evidence, but failed to elaborate. Witnesses said they had heard Laurent and his uncle fighting at the Revere home just half an hour before Laurent showed up at the police station. 

Police issued a search warrant at the Revere house. His uncle had readily complied. Nothing had been found. Nothing had been found in Auguste’s recovered car either. And there was never an autopsy done on his body. 

“Huh,” Damen says. 

He looks up at Auguste, who’s staring at the view outside his floor-to-ceiling windows. For the first time since he showed up in his office, Damen feels sorry for him. Auguste is twelve years older than him, but now here he is, forever twenty-five. Damen’s older than him now, and it’s strange to think about. What makes him more deserving of life? He isn’t even a good person—not the way Auguste is. Was. 

It’s not the most conventional way to start an investigation, but hey, he might as well. “How’d you die?” Damen asks.

Auguste turns to him blinking. His eyebrows raise. “That’s the first thing you say to me after all this time? Jesus, that’s cold, man.”

Damen bites his bottom lip. “Do you remember the day you died? Did you… er.” He can’t bring himself to say kill yourself. 

“The day I died? Hmm.” Auguste’s golden eyebrows furrow. “Let me see… I took Laurent out that day. We went to the fair, and he kept pretending he was too old to go on the rides.” His smile turns fond. “Then we… I dropped him home. I went to meet some friends but I don’t think I made it.”

“Fuck!” Damen scrambles up from his seat, and he’s grateful that his office door is closed. He doesn’t think he could explain to anyone why he’s so horrified. 

Blood streaks down from Auguste’s mouth, the corner of his eyes. His clothes are soaked through, turning transparent. His golden hair is matted and wet against his scalp.

Auguste moans. “I don’t feel so good. I don’t… I can’t talk about this anymore.” 

The blood starts pouring out of his ears. 

Damen stands, paralysed, unable to move. 

And then in a blink, Auguste disappears.

***

“Damn,” Huet says. “How much do you think this place will sell for? Three mill right? I mean, at least.” 

“Shut up,” Damen says. Huet is a new recruit and he is far too peppy and talks far too much. He is definitely not good company. 

Privately, Damen agrees about the house. It’s huge, a sprawling mansion adorned with steep, gabled peaks and chimneys, topped with slate tiles that glisten in the sunlight.  Ivy and climbing roses cling to the walls. As well as being Superman, Auguste was also apparently incredibly rich. 

The man who opens the door is undoubtedly related to Auguste. It’s the eyes—Damen has been staring at those blue eyes in photos and in his office for weeks now.

Richard Revere is in his mid-fifties. His hair is dark, coiled, and his beard is trimmed and peppered with white. There are rings on each of his fingers—giant gemstones that glisten as he shakes Damen and Huet’s hands as they introduce themselves.

He has no qualms about being questioned and invites them in. 

Damen’s eyebrows raise. They’re greeted by a grand foyer with a sweeping marble staircase, its balustrade intricately wrought iron, leading to the upper floors. The interior is a blend of opulence and warmth, with high ceilings, ornate moldings, and crystal chandeliers casting a soft glow over the richly decorated rooms. Antique furniture, plush draperies, and elegant tapestries fill the spaces, each room telling its own story of centuries past.

Richard has no issues with them being in his house. Damen has done this for long enough to go by his gut—and so far this man doesn’t seem like a murderer. He just seems like a rich man from an affluent society. 

Richard makes them tea, and then says, “So. You’ve opened my nephew’s case again?”

“We have,” Damen says. They’re sitting on the most comfortable armchairs he’s ever been, in a room with far too many books and far too many globes. 

“Interesting.” Richard sips his tea. For the first time, his tone is cold, disapproving. “May I ask why? I believe the last set of detectives were incredibly thorough.”

Damen nods. “I’m sure they were. But you understand we’re in a delicate position. We can’t brush off… certain statements.”

“Ah.” Richard’s mouth quirks in amusement. “So this is about Laurent, then.” 

It’s Huet who nods this time. He says, “He called the last leading detective just six months ago, sir. He’s still adamant about…” He awkwardly trails off. 

Now Richard looks very amused. “Oh, I see. Of course. Did you know Laurent happens to make those calls to the police station every time we have a fight?” 

“Well,” Damen says, as Huet makes a note of that. “We’d like to talk to him too. Is he around?”

“He is.” Richard nods. “Upstairs, sleeping.”

Damen doesn’t react when Auguste appears in the living room. He looks like his usual self, dry and golden, free of blood. 

“You need to go upstairs,” Auguste says, and for the first time, there’s a note of frustration in his voice. “I can only go where you go. I want to go upstairs. I want to see my room. I want to see Laurent.” 

“We’ll come back later then,” Damen says. He ignores Auguste’s No! 

Richard leads them back out into the sunlight. Auguste trails after them, eyes flicking over every inch of the house, his gaze wondrous. It fills Damen with pity. 

They make their goodbyes out on the porch. Damen can see some of the neighbours take interest in their police car, but Richard seems unfazed. 

A portly woman at the end of the driveway asks them, “Laurent again? He’s a shame to the Revere name.”

Huet raises both eyebrows. Damen makes a mental note of that.

As they walk to the car, they hear a frantic, whispered. “Hey!”

Auguste gasps. “Laurent.” 

Damen follows his eyes. There’s a window at the side of the house on the second level. Someone’s opened it up enough to wave at them. 

Damen steps closer. Auguste rushes up to the window. “Laurent!” 

Laurent doesn’t hear his brother. But he does notice Damen approaching and beckons him over. 

Damen stands under the window, shoulder to shoulder with a dead man, and looks up at the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. 

Laurent’s hair is golden, falling across those same stunning, blue eyes, his lashes long and dark. His skin is luminous and sweetly pink. 

“Damn,” Huet says under his breath. 

“He’s so grown up,” Auguste whispers. 

“You’re here for Auguste’s case?” Laurent says. 

Damen has to strain to hear him. Laurent’s voice is low, anxious, like he’s worried about being caught. 

“Yeah, we are.” Damen clears his throat, which is suddenly scratchy.

Something bright sparks in Laurent’s eyes. He’s still whispering. “Great. You think you can meet me at the diner down the road in an hour? I can’t get away until he leaves the house.”

That instantly sets alarm bells in Damen’s head. He frowns. 

“God, he looks so different,” Auguste says.

Damen nods at Laurent, who’s still anxious, still waiting for a response. 

“Okay, we’ll see you.”

Laurent nods and shuts the window, disappearing from view. After a moment, Auguste does too. 

[dyinglikenarcissus]

Kitten

7k words

Warnings: 18+ only! This is pure smut. A little dubcon. Your brother’s alpha besties want you but they’ve been so good for so long. What happens when a group trip turns into a one bed situation? Also reader is Sam’s long lost sister or something. Suspend your belief 😂 (I had to include some kind of Sam for our shared birthday)

Enjoy 😊

Please do not copy or repost my work

This really wasn’t supposed to happen.

They’re your brother’s friends. How did you end up like this?

They were supposed to be going on a boys fishing trip to celebrate your brother’s new job but he suddenly came down with something and wasn’t feeling up to it and, as his roommate and baby sister, they insisted you take his place. You didn’t know the first thing about fishing! But when it came to his two alpha buddies you got all tongue tied and your omega came spilling out like an over boiling pot. They were just so handsome and big and imposing and charismatic. They have great jobs and fancy cars and penthouse apartments. The ideal alphas.

It also didn’t help that you were a couple weeks away from your heat. It just makes their sway over you more powerful. They didn’t mean any harm. They were just used to being surrounded by other alphas. They didn’t know how to reign it in. Normally your brother was around as a buffer. You were rarely ever alone with them…

The two hour car ride was the longest you’d ever spent with just the two of them. They went on and on about baseball and beer and guns and other things you had absolutely no knowledge about so you just sat quietly in the back seat with your phone and your switch and prayed you were almost there.

But it would be fine! It was supposed to be a huge family suite with a bunch of rooms and a full kitchen and everything. You’d have your own space to retreat to if they became…too much for you.

But being there gave you absolutely no relief.

“I’m sorry!” The hotel front desk manager started after looking up your stay. “We accidentally overbooked and had to give away your room. We can rectify it tomorrow but tonight all we have is a single king.”

They readily agreed, not paying any attention to your protest. They said it would be fun. Like camping.

You never liked camping.

So now you stand between the rock that is Steve Rogers and the hard place that is Bucky Barnes.

“We’ll just take the floor, kitten,” Bucky smiles using the nickname they’ve called you since you were children. “I prefer it anyway. Better for my back.”

“Yeah. You get comfortable. Don’t worry about us,” Steve assures you. You just nod while the boys call down for extra pillows and blankets and food while you clean up from the long drive. It wasn’t super late but it was late enough that you weren’t going to do anything else tonight. The boys wanted to get up early. Apparently that’s when the fish are most active? The most you knew about fishing was from Animal Crossing and if any of that was true, they should be waiting for it to rain. Which reminds you that you that you need to water your flowers in your little digital town. You’ll do it as soon as you’re out of the shower…

Well, ain’t this some shit.

You didn’t exactly pack to share close quarters.

The only PJs you brought were mini shorts and cropped tank tops that were pretty much transparent in the right light. You should have brought a comfy sweater or something to cover up in but you wanted to pack light. You didn’t want to look like ‘that girl’ with a suitcase for every night. But at least you’d have a sleeping sweater…

You roll your eyes at your idiotic lack of foresight and choose the least see through ones and hope they don’t look too closely.

So much for that.

The second you walk back into the main room, two sets of blue eyes are on you. They suddenly forget all about their baseball, their beer, and their guns at the vision in front of them. Your soft curves are clearly visible through your lack of clothes: a sight they’ve only seen when the group goes swimming. They can barely keep it together with you prancing around in tiny fabric triangles that barely cover your wet and obviously cold body. But normally your brother was there to keep them at bay.

No older brother in sight. Just you left alone for the two of them. All. Weekend. Long.

Steve is the first one clear his throat and avert his gaze. “We ordered some pizzas. Is that okay with you?”

“Y-yeah! Pizza’s great,” you smile nervously. “I’m done in the bathroom if either of you want a turn.”

Bucky doesn’t even spare Steve a glance as he makes his way to the bathroom. “Age before beauty,” he snarks at the blond leaving the two of you alone.

You just smile at the tall blond sitting on the edge of the bed before rifling through your luggage for your Switch unknowingly giving Steve the perfect view of your peach ass through your tiny shorts.

“Shit,” Steve breathes, tilting his head slightly to see what else you’re hiding under there.

“What was that?” You ask pulling yourself out from your duffle.

“Oh, nothing,” the blond says quickly snapping his head back to the TV. “Just the game. Crazy play…” he trails.

“Oh?” You smile and nod already knowing you won’t understand what’s going on so you don’t bother asking. You snuggle up against the pillows to play your game and ignore whatever sports ball game is on.

“What are you playing?” His voice doesn’t initially reach you as you shake your head and focus on the alpha watching you. When did Steve’s eyes get so pretty? They’re like kaleidoscopes of green and blue. Hmmmm…

Wait. He said something, didn’t he?

“I’m sorry?”

“What are you playing?” He asks again leaning back to see the screen of your handheld console.

“Animal Crossing,” you whisper. He’s so close you can feel the body heat radiating off of him. He’s never been this close…

“That game’s super popular lately, huh? Never tried it. I used to just play Halo and GTA when I was as your age.”

“GTA is pretty fun,” you smile.

“What’s an innocent little thing like you know about GTA?”

“I get on my brother’s PlayStation every once in a while,” you admit. “I’m not that innocent,” you giggle singing the song.

“I feel like we’ll be learning all kinds of things about you this weekend,” Steve laughs as his hand finds your ankle, stroking the smooth skin gently. You practically leap from your skin. He can’t do that! Can he? He can’t do it again…

And then he does, his rough fingers tracing the inside of your ankle, and a wave arousal spills from you like clockwork. His fresh rain and smoke scent washes over you heavily and a soft whimper escapes your lips.

You can’t do this! Not for a whole weekend!

A knock at the door has you leaping away from him, tugging your feet away quickly.

“Someone’s jumpy,” Steve laughs before getting the door. Saved by the bell. A hotel employee brings a stack of pillows, blankets, and towels before rolling in a cart with two pizza boxes and two pitchers of beer.”

“We figured you wouldn’t eat much,” Steve laughs grabbing a chilled glass and plate before leaning next to you on the bed.

“Food’s here?” Bucky grins stepping out of the bathroom in a pair of low hanging grey sweats. Just a pair of low hanging grey sweats…

So many muscles…so much outline…

You’re going to die here.

His hair was still wet and messy as he mimicked Steve; grabbing food and finding a spot on the other side of you on the bed.

“What’s up, kitten? You gonna eat?” He asks before taking a bite.

“Uh, yeah,” you whisper and slide out from between the two giant men. When did it get so hot? You’re suddenly glad for your lack of clothing.

There’s no chairs or a table in this room. It really is the barebones. It’s hard to believe that this is the same hotel with three bedroom suites.

You sit on the edge of the bed, taking Steve’s spot and nibbling on your food quietly.

“Kitten, you know we love you but you’re blocking the TV,” Bucky groans. “Come back up here.” No. No no no no. Not back there between those two big imposing men.

“Your spots still nice and warm for you,” Steve sighs patting the spot in between them. You didn’t need warmth. Warmth was the last thing you needed. But you slide your plate across the bed and scoot back between them.

“Ain’t this nice?” Bucky asks.

“You don’t want a drink, kitten?” Steve wonders.

“Oh no,” you smile. “Beer isn’t really my thing.”

“Shit! We should’ve ordered something for you. We should know you better by now,” Steve sighs.

“Rosé, huh, kitten?” Bucky asks guiltily.

“Yeah, a rosé would be nice but I’m fine,” you insist and shake your bottle of water before taking a sip.

“That’s no fun kitten. We want you to drink with us. I’ll call down and get a bottle.” A whole bottle? Oh no! You attempt to stop the brunet alpha but he’s already on the phone ordering their best bottle.

“Don’t worry about it, kitten. We’ll pay for it,” Steve laughs. That’s not the problem! You almost shout at him but then he uses that alpha influence on you. “Sit back and relax. Please.”

“O-okay,” you whisper and settle back into the pillows.

“Who knew you could be so obedient?” Bucky laughs hanging up the phone. “You never listen to your brother like that?”

These two are not your brother.

“Did you see that play?” Steve shouts.

“He’s going! He going! He’s going!”

“Come on, Evans! Fuck yeah! You’re going to owe me a fortune at the end of the season,” Steve laughs.

“My bracket’s going to turn around. Just you wait, punk.”

“Whatever, jerk.” You smile at their antics. You’ve heard it your entire life but it never stopped being adorable.

“You two are cute.” The words slip from your mouth before you get a chance to stop yourself. Their blue gazes are back on you in an instant.

“Cute, huh?” Bucky smirks, biting his bottom lip slightly. Oh no.

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Steve grins leaning slightly closer to you. No no no no! You almost claw your way out from between them when there’s another knock at the door. Thank God!

You move to get up but Bucky presses your thigh back down. “Sit. I got it.” He returns only to hand you a glass of wine. “Drink up. You have a whole bottle to get through.”

“There’s no way I’ll finish that, Bucky,” you laugh taking the glass with both hands.

“You won’t know until you try, kitten,” Steve smirks poking your nose with his index finger.

These two are going to kill you.

You’re soon giggling at Bucky’s jokes and leaning into Steve’s touch after your third glass of wine.

“You should’ve seen him. He was puking over the railing. Those poor fish!” Bucky laughs at the man behind you’s expense. Steve attempts to fight off his own laughter, gripping your waist and pulling you closer against him as you laugh at Bucky’s story.

“Whatever. You keep talking shit. I’m going to take a shower,” Steve chuckles and pulls away from you.

“So, kitten, tell me about your first date?”

“What?” You laugh, taking a sip of your wine.

“We told you about ours. I wanna hear about yours,” Bucky smiles running his hand up your thigh.

“Oh, it really isn’t all that interesting. It was just this guy in high school. We went to the movies. I think we saw Superbad or one of those Michael Cera movies. He tried to kiss me before my mom could come get me up but I wasn’t feeling it.”

“You wouldn’t kiss a guy after one of Michael Cera’s attempts at acting?”

“No,” you giggle. “He’s a fine actor. I just wasn’t feeling it,” you shrug.

“Alright, tell me about your first kiss then.”

“My first…?” You ask scrunching your brows up at the alpha. “Umm, well…”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never been kissed,” Bucky laughs leaning a little closer. His hand hitches a little higher on your hip, gripping what’s exposed of your ass. Any other time you would have been running as far away from him as possible but right now his sandalwood and lavender scent is going to send you straight into an early heat.

“Promise not to laugh?” You ask looking up at him through your lashes.

“I won’t. Scouts honor.”

“Like you were ever a scout,” you smile in disbelief. “Well, I didn’t have it until college.”

“Late bloomer, huh?”

You nod. “I went to my first ever college party and got really wasted and I was dancing with this guy.”

“Recipe for disaster,” Bucky grins, pulling you a little closer. You happily curl into him, slotting your leg between his. Your hand comes to rest on his lower stomach. You’ve never felt such strong abs before. You can’t help but feel a little bit. You hope he doesn’t mind.

“I told you not to laugh!” You smile.

“You’re telling the story so dramatically I can’t help it.”

You groan softly and continue your story. “So I was dancing with this guy and my friends were ready to leave so we left and he came with us. Walked with us all the way across campus, it had to have been a couple of miles and he lived close to where the party was.”

“He was trying to get some,” Bucky laughs spanking you softly.

“He was! And he wasn’t subtle about it at all! We were plotting how to ditch him the entire walk. So my friend, Milly, said just make out with him and we’ll have the automatic doors at the dorm lock him out. She didn’t know I’d never kissed a guy so I was just dreading it. Like, why do I care how this guy thinks I kiss but we made it to the dorm. They’re looking at me expectantly, waiting to slam the auto doors on this poor kids face. I just copied what I’d seen on TV, lured him right into the doorway and I just went for it. I literally puffed out my cheeks and pressed my lips against his and he tried to stick his tongue in my mouth and it was horrible! It scared me so much, I stepped back before the girls said go but Milly was on the wrestling team so she has lightning fast reflexes and she slammed the door right on his tongue.” You can’t help the laughter that spills from you and Bucky’s soon follows. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!” You cry pressing your hand against his chest.

“How could you expect me not to laugh at that?” He chuckles. “Poor fucker. Didn’t know what he was getting into with a feisty little omega like you.”

“Feisty? Me?” You laugh.

“Yes, you,” Steve laughs from behind you, sliding back into the bed freshly washed and in only a thin pair of boxers and a tank top. “What’d you do, kitten?” His strong arms wrap around your waist pulling you slightly from Bucky’s grip. One hand splays across you stomach and the other rest a little too high on your ribs to be friendly.

“She was telling me about her first kiss. She’s an evil little thing.”

“Oh, not our kitten. She’s an angel,” Steve admits nuzzling his face in your neck. It feels so good. To be wrapped in two pairs of strong arms. Both their scents settle over you so comfortably. You wish you could drown in it. You practically purr at their touch. In fact…

“Kitten,” Bucky laughs. “Are you purring?”

“No!” You deny quickly pressing away from them. “We should really get ready for bed-”

“Aw, come on, kitten,” Bucky sighs pulling you back down into his embrace. “Hang out with us.” Hang out? The last thing these two were doing was hanging out but you fall back into his arms anyway. “Was your second kiss any better?” Bucky asks distracting you from Steve’s touch.

“W-well, yeah. They were all much better after that.”

“So, you’re a pretty good kisser, huh?” Steve asks pressing his lips against your neck then licking at the sensitive skin there just above your scent gland. “Do you kiss as good as you taste?”

“Wha-! No! Steve!” You whine squirming under his touch.

“Kitten, really. I wish you’d relax for us,” Bucky sighs. “You haven’t slammed anymore tongues into doors?”

You shake your head no while Bucky’s hand grips your ass, pulling you into him and right into something more stiff than his abs but they don’t even give you a chance to react to that.

“Can you show me, kitten? How you kiss?” Steve asks softly, his hand snaking under your tiny shirt and pressing you down onto your back.

“Stevie, Bucky, w-we really shouldn’t be doing this,” you whine looking up into Steve’s ocean eyes. He really does have beautiful eyes.

“Why shouldn’t we?” Bucky asks pressing kisses to your bare shoulder. “You trust us, don’t you?”

“We’d never hurt you, kitten. You have no idea how long we’ve waited to get you away from your brother.”

“Practically since you presented.”

“That long?” You whisper, attempting to look at Bucky.

“You developed all these tantalizing curves, kitten. How could we resist?” There are hands all over your body. You can’t tell which ones belong to who. All you know is that you don’t want them to stop.

“We know you want us,” Steve sighs pressing your tiny shirt up over your breasts. “Your scent is fucking intoxicating.”

“And it spikes like crazy when we’re around. Just let us make you feel good, kitten. If you hate it, we’ll leave you alone,” Bucky promises.

“But we know you’ll love it.” Steve presses down your body and nips at your breast. You whine, spreading your legs to accommodate his large body.

“See? You already love it,” Bucky chuckles. He finally presses his lips to yours and it practically takes your breath away.

“Bucky,” you whimper against his lips as his scents spikes for you.

“Fuck,” Steve groans against your nipples. “Open up for us. Good girl, kitten.” You whine as your core clenches around nothing. You need them. You’ve never needed anyone more in your life. A set of fingers find your clothed core and you arch off the bed dramatically. “Warm her up for me, Buck?”

“You got it, pal,” Bucky chuckles around your lips. So many of your senses were firing at once. You didn’t know what to focus on. Steve’s tongue on your nipples and Bucky’s fingers at your clit. Fuck. It was all too much.

“Please,” you whisper not knowing what you wanted but you needed it.

“Please?” Steve chuckles. “Whatever you want, kitten. We’ll give it to you.”

“But you gotta tell us,” Bucky mutters. His fingers clear your tiny shorts and make contact with your naked pussy. You gasp at the feeling making them both chuckle softly.

“What can we do for you?” Steve asks.

“I-I wanna-I wanna-“

“You wanna what, kitten?” Steve’s mouth sucks at your sensitive nipples and Bucky’s fingers press against your quivering clit.

“Wanna cum!” You whine sharply.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky chuckles and pulls away from you along with Steve.

“Wai-! Where are you going?” You pant as they sit back to watch you.

“We need to get rid of all these clothes first,” Steve explains and presses your legs together to pull off your shorts while Bucky tugs your tiny top over your head. Then they work on themselves. Your eyes widen as you watch them peel off their bottoms, revealing their hard red leaking cocks.

“What’s wrong, kitten? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Bucky smirks as he tosses away his sweats and grips his heavy erection, a steady stream leaking from it’s tip and making his scent so much more heady.

“You’re alright. Just relax,” Steve’s scent permeates beyond Bucky’s settling over you like a weighted blanket as he strips revealing his own giant cock. Precum bubbles out of his tip in thick globs making you gulp.

“Y-you’re both so big,” you whisper.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Steve laughs. “We’ll get you nice and warmed up. You’ll barely feel us.” Barely!? You want to run away but you’re paralyzed under their gaze. “Now, let me get a real taste of you.” Steve tugs your legs up over his shoulders until you’re dangling with the top of your head on his lap and staring blankly at a now upside down Bucky. You don’t even have time to think about it before his tongue licks a strip up your core and you’re left screaming for him.

“Told you we’d make you feel good,” Bucky chuckles. “Now look at you. In the perfect position to fill up that cute little hole.”

“Wh-“ But you’re cut off by Bucky tapping his tip against your bottom lips. “That’s not gonna fit!” You protest but it’s on deaf ears as he presses past your lips into your hot, wet mouth.

“See? We know what we’re doing, kitten. Trust us,” Bucky sighs as he strokes himself against your lips. A hand wraps around one of yours and guides it around his thick member, showing you how hard to squeeze. “There you go, kitten. Good girl. Just like that. Fuck. How long do you think she can stay like this, Stevie?”

Steve pulls away long enough to mutter, “Until she cums,” before diving back into your hot pussy.

You whine around your oral burden feeling the blood simultaneously rush to your head and your core until you feel like you’ll pass out from the pressure. Your whimpers get more frantic and your attention on Bucky’s cocks gets more spotty until you’re legs are clamped around Steve’s head for dear life. You get so close as everything gets so dark and fuzzy around the edges. You can’t hold on anymore. Your eyes flutter shut just as sparkles burst behind your lids and you cum flooding into Steve’s awaiting mouth.

Fuck…

Fuck!

Your eyes wretch open at the impossible stretch inside your core. “Ah! Ahhh! Stevie! Bucky!” You cry out softly as the walls of flesh around you start to console you.

“Hey! Hey, kitten. You’re okay. Calm down,” Steve instructs, his scent starting to lull you into a sense of security as his fingers stroke your cheek gently.

“We told you you’d barely feel it,” Bucky laughs from behind you.

You feel it now! He feels impossibly large and how is he fucking you twice?

You glance down to see between your and Steve’s bodies.

No. No no no no! You let out a strangled scream as the pain of having two monster cocks inside of you starts register.

“Hey! Relax!” Bucky barks. “It feels good, doesn’t it? Being this full of us?”

“Just imagine being full of our babies,” Steve grunts.

“Fuck, you’d look so beautiful. All round with huge, leaking tits,” Bucky chuckles as his fingers dance across your hard nipples.

“You aren’t on birth control, are you?”

“N-no,” you whisper, smothering your face is Steve’s shoulder.

“Good,” they both reply at once. Not good. You weren’t ready for babies. You didn’t even have a mate…

“Stop,” Bucky calls to his partner sensing your distress first. “What wrong, kitten?”

“Tell us. Let us fix it,” Steve seconds as they both still inside of you.

You can barely think straight with them stretching you like this let alone reply.

“Can’t-can’t have a baby,” you strain.

“Why not?” Steve asks, stroking your braids from your face before cupping your face.

“I-we-we’re not-“

“Out with it, kitten,” Bucky groans smacking the side of your ass.

“Bucky,” Steve reprimands. “Talk to us, kitten.”

“We’re not mated!” You finally moan into Steve’s shoulder.

“Oh?” Steve laughs.

“Is that all?” Bucky chuckles. “Don’t worry about that.”

“You’ll have marks all over you by Sunday. No one will ever question who you belong to,” Steve smirks before gripping your hips and beginning to thrust into you anew. Bucky follows suit and you wonder just how much the human body can take before it splits in half. It’s too much. Far too much. They’re too big! They take up too much space in your little body. Just when you think you’ll pass out again Steve grumbles that he’s going to cum and Bucky mimics his notion shortly afterwards.

“Please, please, please,” you chant, slurring your speech with how close your own release is.

Then one of them hits that spot just right and you’re screaming for them, clinching around them enough that they cum spilling inside of you. And then you’re left screaming again as their knots pop into place keeping all that essence bottle up inside you as they continue to spew their seed.

You gasp as you feel your belly bloat with all of it, bowing outward against Steve’s strong abs.

“Too much!” You whine at the feeling. Too full. Too tight. Too heavy. Far too much.

“Hey! I know. I know. It’s a lot. Hang in there for us,” Bucky attempts to soothe but you immediately feel another round of hot cum paint your insides and ballooning your stomach even more.

“Can’t!” You cry but both men rub your arms and your face, attempting to calm you just enough to get you on your side. Bucky’s hand finds your bloated stomach and rubs soft circles into it while Steve whispers sweet praises in your ear.

“You were so good for us, kitten. The best girl we could ask for. You gonna hold on to all that hot cum and make us a bunch of babies?” You can only nod slightly as you attempt to get comfortable. Your quickened breaths eventually get heavier as you start to doze off. “There you go, kitten. Get some rest. You deserve it.”

“She’s tight as a drum, Stevie,” Bucky sighs as his fingers find your navel. It’s straining against the need to pop to give the cum inside you a little extra room.

“We might have over done it,” Steve chuckles until he feels his partner starting to strain against his knot. “The fuck are you doing?

“She’s just so hot like this. I can’t help it,” Bucky groans as he humps into their little partner.

“Fuck, Buck!” Steve hisses trying to ignore the friction against his own cock. “You’re gonna make me cum!” But Bucky just ignores him thrusting shallowly into you while you sleep.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fu-“ Bucky sighs cumming into you once more and pulling Steve closely behind with him. You whimper softly in your sleep as your tummy bows out even more.

“Fuck, Buck! No more. She can’t handle it,” Steve says with an air of authority as he holds you against him protectively.

“I’m exhausted anyway,” the brunet yawns and cups your breast and your stomach as he follows you into sleep.

You wake up far more bloated than you remember when you fell asleep but at least both your alphas knots had gone down.

Your alphas…

It was interesting to think of them like that after so long of them being your brother’s friends. Your alphas sounds…nice.

You scramble from between the two sleeping giants and rush to the bathroom to release the load they deposited in you. You watch your bloated stomach deflate and wonder what pregnancy would be like.

You quickly shake your head of the thought. No babies without mating! You don’t care how much your omega instincts want to take over, that was never going to happen!

You return to the main room and find Bucky and Steve had turned into more comfortable positions without being knotted inside of you. You still crawl in between them and curl over Bucky’s chest in exhaustion.

“Hey? You alright?” He yawns feeling your weight as you nuzzle into him. You just nod and attempt to snuggle further into his chest. “Hang on. I want my pick of spots. Sit up for a second.” You sleepily obey, sitting on your heels before him while he scrutinizes you. He tilts your head to the left and bares his fangs into your shoulder right above your scent gland. Your eyes widen at how simple it is. No posturing. No rituals. Just a mark and you already feel more drawn to him. “There. All mine,” Bucky smiles proudly. “Punk! Wake up and claim her!” You can’t help but giggle at the two before you slide into Steve’s arms. You hold up your head on the opposite side of Bucky’s for him and that’s it. He’s marked you for life. You feel his pull start to tug you in as well as you press a kiss to his lips. You crawl from his arms and attempt to curl back in between them.

“You are far too active for a pregnant woman,” Steve mutters turning over to face you. “It obviously didn’t take and we need to try again.”

“I agree,” Bucky laughs only for you to protest and use the sheets as a shield against them.

“We have all weekend, right? You two can destroy me again tomorrow?”

Bucky smirks at you knowingly before averting his gaze to Steve. “Only if that’s a promise, ‘mega.” Your eyes widen at your brunet alpha.

“Goodnight, kitten,” Steve wishes and presses a kiss to your temple. “Get some rest. You’re gonna need it.”

You were suddenly very awake.

“Kitten? Rise and shine, my beautiful little omega.” You curl further into the sheets after hearing your name.

“Too early,” you mumble.

“What happened to you being ours today? You promised.” You whine softly and peek from the pillows to see Bucky watching you expectantly. He’s already dressed for the day and so is Steve as he rubs your back from behind you. So sore. You wiggle your hips hoping to alleviate the pain but it doesn’t help.

“We should let her sleep in,” Steve sighs pulling you closer to him.

“She’s fine,” Bucky insists. “Get up and get dressed.” You stretch against Steve’s body, the sheets falling away from you and instantly reminding you that you’re completely naked. You let out a soft gasp and cover your chest out of instinct completely forgetting about last night’s activities.

“Shy all of the sudden?” Steve laughs and kisses your cheek. “You don’t have to hide from us. Come on. Get up.” You roll from the bed and stumble into the bathroom as the events from the previous evening start to flood your mind. You’re mated now. To your brother’s best friends...

He’s going to kill them.

Your eyes widen at the thought before you catch yourself in your reflection. Your braids are a tangled mess but under them you see two sets of semi circular marks on either side of your neck. You really are theirs now.

A shutter runs through your body and ends right at your core.

Theirs.

Your alphas.

This is kind of a lot to spring on someone after one night. You laugh at the situation. You never in a million years thought you’d be mated to Steve and Bucky. Sure you fantasized about it but it was never something you thought would become your reality.

You emerge from the bathroom freshly dressed in a short sun dress. “There she is,” Bucky smiles and pulls you into his arms. “You look so cute all dolled up for us.” You stand on your toes and press a kiss to his lips. He hums positively and pulls you back for more.

Steve chuckles from behind you. “Let her go so we can get some food. Gotta keep our little omega fed.”

You giggle and grab Steve’s hand as he leads you down to the hotel restaurant.

Your first time in public as a mated omega is interesting. All the attention you’re used to getting is gone? Well, not really gone. Alphas still look but they notice the marks you proudly bare on your neck and quickly glance away. It also didn’t help that your alphas were constantly all over you: making your plate, feeding you, making sure you got exactly what you wanted.

“Grab a jacket and something to keep you entertained,” Bucky instructs when you head back to the room.

“Am I going fishing with you guys?” You ask, stretching and yawning. You just wanted to go back to sleep. Steve gives you a positive hum while he gathers his things. “I can just hang out here. Get a massage or something,” you suggest. “Maybe a bigger room will be ready and I can move our stuff…”

“Nah, you can’t do that by yourself,” Bucky denies. “And we want you with us, kitten. It’ll be fun. Better than this stuffy hotel.”

“If you insist,” you sigh and follow them out to the truck. It’s a short drive to their fishing spot, maybe a little over half an hour. They’re quiet as the set up their gear so you set up a folding chair out of their way and work on your town.

“Kitten, you didn’t think you’d sit over there with your game all day, did you?” Bucky laughs calling you over. He grips your thigh under your dress and places a kiss on your hand.

“Is this fishing? Sitting around in the sun by the water?” You ask seeing their set up: a case of beers and a baseball game streaming on one of their iPads. How were they even getting a signal out here?

“Basically,” Steve smirks up at you, those beautiful eyes squinting in the sun. “I’m glad you wore a dress today. Less to work around.”

“Huh?” You question dumbly.

“Kitten, you remember how you promised to make us a baby this weekend?” Bucky asks pulling you closer by your leg.

“Right now?” You blanch looking around the forested landscape.

“Yes, right now. We have plenty of time.”

“What if someone sees?” You ask quietly.

“They’d get a beautiful show,” Steve sighs as Bucky’s hand snakes further up your leg to find your panties. He repositions you between his thighs before tugging the little piece of fabric down your legs. Bucky presses a kiss to your stomach just before his fingers find your slit.“Bucky,” you whisper, your face heating in embarrassment.

“Open up for me, kitten.” He kicks your feet apart and you fall into him, gripping his shoulders to keep your balance. His fingers tuck into your core, making a beaconing motion and immediately finding that spot he abused the night before. You let out a soft shriek as you grip his strong shoulders. Bucky lets out a satisfied hum and kisses your cleavage. “You’re so perfect for us. So glad we have you.”

“My alphas,” you breathe.

“Our perfect little omega,” Steve sighs stepping behind you hiking up your skirt over your ass. “With the best ass on the planet,” you hear the smile in his voice right before he smacks your ass roughly. “Open her up a little more for me, Buck.”

Bucky grips your ass and pulls your knees over his thighs on his folding chair. “Shit. Hold on,” Bucky grunts and stands with your legs around his waist. “Jacket, Stevie?”

Steve lays his jacket down for you to rest your knees on.

“Thank you, Stevie,” you smile.

“Anything for you, kitten.” Steve kisses you but you chase after his lips wanting more, both of their scents calming your nerves a little.

“Is this the same omega who was worried about being caught?” Bucky laughs gripping your bare ass.

“Bucky,” you giggle squirming in his grip.

“Calm down. We’re going to fuck you no matter what,” Steve jokes and kisses you once more. Bucky sits back down with your legs spread open for Steve, you can already feel your juices slipping from your core for them.

“There’s still some cum in you, kitten,” Steve sighs, swiping his fingers through your folds.

“I-it’s your fault,” you whimper.

Steve hums back, the sound of it runs straight down to your core. “My fault? It seems like I have a little kitten who needs to learn to clean up her messes.”

You drop your face into the bend of Bucky’s neck and inhale his scent. It’s so potent and heady you can barely think straight.

“Someone’s getting a little hazy,” Bucky sighs. “Your heat starting, kitten?”

“N-no!” You quickly deny and pull away from him.

“It’s okay. Come back.” He pulls you back into his embrace. “It’s okay if you can’t control it. That’s why we’re here.”

“Let us take care of that pesky heat,” Steve sighs. “You just be our sweet little omega.”

“Speaking of being our sweet little omega, do you wanna mark us, kitten?” Bucky asks pressing his lips to the mark Steve left on your shoulder.

“Y-you want me to…?” You question, your lids starting to feel heavy from the hormones suddenly overtaking your system.

Bucky gives you an affirmative hum, his lips never leaving your skin.

The thought never crossed your mind. You always assumed you’d belong to your alpha. Not the other way around.

It didn’t seem normal. Or, at least, no one ever talked about it.

“You’re sure you want me?” You whisper, trying to fight back the heat for a moment. It was coming no matter what at this point. It’s just a matter of letting it come.

“Kitten, we told you last night. We’ve wanted you for years,” Steve sighs, tilting your head back so you can see him.

“But you’re like a skittish little cat. You run at the first sign of danger. So we had to corner you,” Bucky adds trailing his fingers along your exposed cleavage.

“Get you alone, away from that protective brother of yours,” Steve smirks and kisses your forehead before releasing you.

“We want you, kitten. We have rooms made for you at our homes. Our kitchens are stocked with your favorite foods on the off chance you might come by. We just need you to submit.”

“B-both of you?” You breathe, glancing between the two of them.

“We’re a package deal, sweetheart,” Steve chuckles.

You watch Bucky’s chest for a moment, your fingers gripping his Henley lightly. You glance up at his blue eyes before shifting your gaze to his scent gland.

You nod slightly before leaning down to meet his skin. You kiss the area, trailing kisses until you find the perfect spot for your mark. Then you bite down hard and Bucky’s scent explodes for you. A fresh wave a slick coats your core and you almost feel faint.

“…so good,” you sigh out, mostly to yourself.

“If you like that, just wait for my rut,” Bucky grunts in your ear making your face heat. Everything suddenly feels so hot and your skin is so sensitive.

“My turn?” Steve asks, picking you up to cradle you against his chest. You nod and wrap your arms around his shoulders. You nuzzle against his neck, finding the perfect spot on him as well. Your lips explore his skin before you finally bite down. A whine escapes you as Steve’s scent overwhelms your senses. You grip his shoulders as a cramp runs through your body.

“Fuck, kitten, I felt that,” Steve groans.

“You need someone to scratch that itch?” Bucky asks.

“It’s more than an itch, Buck. She needs to get fucked,” Steve laughs and places you back in his lap.

“Is that right, kitten? You need to get fucked?” A soft whine escapes your lips as you squirm in Bucky’s lap.

You nod weakly. There’s no use in hiding it now. They know you carnally. They feel everything you feel and they definitely feel the slick dripping down your thighs.

“Good girl,” Steve sighs. Steve spreads your lips with his fingers and thrusts in so slowly you feel every ridge and vein adorning his cock. The moan that escapes your lips is feral. You need this. You need them.

Steve completely buries himself in you and your jaw falls open dumbly.

“Fuck,” Steve groans. “You feels amazing, kitten.”

You feel your core clinch around him so tightly it’s almost painful.

Bucky lifts you up while you’re still impaled on Steve’s cock. He unzips his own pants and spreads your cheeks. His fingers wipe up the slick seeping out of your core before fingering your puckered hole.

“Deep breath kitten,” he sighs as he massages your insides, spreading the slick until you’re nice and slippery. “Keep breathing for me.”

Then you feel him. His thick head starting to breech that hole where it definitely shouldn’t.

“Too big,” you whine and struggle between them but before you know it, Bucky is fully sheathed within you.

Part of starts to panic as your heart and breaths race.

“Calm down, little omega. We’re gonna take care of you,” Steve coos.

“Very good care of you,” Bucky agrees.

You return to the hotel and the woman at the front desks apologizes again and hands Steve the keycards to the room he initially booked. The three of you look at each other before Steve speaks. “Actually, do you have any king suites available?”

You let your alphas carry your luggage to your new room. There were much more amenities than the last one. A kitchenette, a jacuzzi, a separate living room and bedroom.

“This a little better kitten?” Bucky asks wrapping his arms around your waist.

You nod and accept a kiss. Your phone vibrates on the table and a picture of your brother pops up on the screen. You pull away from Bucky’s grip and press a kiss to his lips before answering your phone.

“Hey, Sammy! How you feeling?”

“Way better! So I drove out to meet you guys. I knew you didn’t want to be left alone with those jokers for too long.” Your eyes widen and meet Bucky’s gaze like a deer in a set of headlights.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks throwing himself on the bed after he finishes unpacking again.

“Um, S-Sam…Sam is-Sam is…”

Bucky plucks the phone from your fingers. “Hello?” Bucky asks all concern but his face quickly lights up. “Hey! Yeah! Come on up. Room 532.” He hangs up your phone and places it back in your hands. “Sammy’s here,” he tells Steve as if it’s completely normal.

“Cool! I’m glad he’s feeling better.”

“The couch pulls out. I’m not moving rooms again,” Bucky sighs and pulls you to the bed.

“Wait!” You cry. “He-he’s gonna know. He’s gonna kill us!”

“I’d like to see him try,” Bucky laughs rubbing your stomach comfortably. “What are we doing for dinner?”

“I was just looking…there’s a steak house in town, twenty minutes away.”

“Steak sounds good. Anything for our kitten there?”

“They have salmon, shrimp risotto, oh! Lobster ravioli! You love lobster ravioli.” You do love lobster ravioli but your brother is about to see that his two best friends obviously fucked his little sister and you were all about to be on his shit list.

How can they be so calm about this?

There’s a knock at the door all too soon before you could even start to process a defense for the situation.

Steve gets up to answer the door and you hear the two best friends greet each other. Sam sounds so happy.

Too happy!

You start to panic when Bucky’s hand finds yours.

“Hey, relax. We’ll handle this. That’s what alphas are for.”

“Where my baby sister?” You hear Sam call and you pull away from Bucky and stumble from the bedroom. Steve brushes your lower back as you step up to Sam. You look up into his brown eyes and he instantly knows something is off.

He inhales your scent and sets a glare on Steve. “You fucked my little sister.” It wasn’t a question.

“Can you blame us, Sam? We’ve wanted her for far too long. We weren’t going to pass this up.”

“We? Both of you?” His gaze falls back on you. “Are you okay?”

You cock your head to the side. Are you okay? You let out a laugh and fall into a fit of giggles. “Surprisingly, I survived,” you breathe out through your laughter.

“Are you okay with this?” Sam asks once you sober.

You glance between the two men on either side of you. “I’m really happy, actually. They’re perfect,” you smile and grip Steve’s hand.

Sam glances between the three of you. “As long as you’re happy.”

“Anyway, we were thinking steak for dinner. You hungry?” Bucky asks and grabs Sam’s bag off of his shoulder.

“Starving,” Sam sighs. “Traffic was horrible.”

“Right? Poor kitten’s switch died and she was stuck just listening to us. She’s a fucking saint for that.” You giggle falling into Bucky’s chest.

“I think I fell asleep at some point,” you smile.

“And the room situation has been a nightmare. You don’t mind sleeping on the pull out?” Steve asks leading your brother into the room.

“Let me guess, they were out of three bedrooms and it was the one bed situation and now I have to watch my sister and my two best friends act like mates?”

“Yeah! That’s exactly it, actually,” Steve laughs.

“And we did mate her. You’re pretty good at this, Samuel,” Bucky smirks.

Sam looks between the three of you absolutely dumbfounded. “Alright,” he lets out a shaky exhale. “Give me a few days to adjust to this. Please.”

Bucky grins cheekily. “Should we start calling you brother, yet?”

“What about ‘a few of days’ aren’t you getting, Buck?”

“Your sister’s anything but quiet so you’re gonna hear about it all night,” Steve smirks.

“You know what, I’m just going to get my own room. I don’t wanna hear it.” You giggle softly at your brother’s comment. “Just don’t hurt my sister and you three can do whatever you want.”

“You know we could never, Sammy,” Steve grins.

“At least not in a way she wouldn’t beg for,” Bucky smirks.

“Stop! I told you I don’t wanna hear it. I’m not listening,” Sam calls before grabbing his bag and heading back downstairs.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if the only room left was the one next door?” Steve hums, pulling you closer and resting his chin on your head.

“Or the one we just left,” Bucky muses.

“Fine! I’ll get a different hotel!” Sam groans making you laugh again.

“Be nice, boys. We’ll behave.”

“You have to behave first, kitten,” Steve mutters before pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Definitely staying in a different hotel,” Sam sighs.

“Yeah, whatever,” Bucky smirks. “Like you’ll leave her alone with us for another night. Let’s go get some food.”

Master List

[firstprincehornyramblings]

Hello and happy Sunday morning. <3 I was absentee Wednesday but I am glad to be back and in the writing swing. Thank you to @onthewaytosomewhere for the tag

Let's jump right into it, I have three WIPs I'm working on at the moment, in various states of completion, so I'll give you a little taste of each, under the cut so it's not SO obnoxiously long.

-

Hairstylist Henry and his least Favorite Client

“That’s what you’re focusing on right now, making it to the employee section?” Henry asked, tugging Alex’s shirt over his head and tossing it on the table alongside the jacket. “Well, that depends,” the brunette began in a coy tone, his fingertips gently untucking Henry’s dress shirt, “Am I allowed to undress you too?” “Well, you can’t very well fuck me with my clothes on, can you?” “Oooh, I’m getting laid in the employees only room. I bet you bring all your boys back here,” Alex hummed, tugging Henry’s shirt off and draping it over the clearly assigned clothing table. “You’re making me regret it and we haven’t even started yet,” Henry tutted, obviously playful. His hand slipping between them as he ran his fingers over the growing hardness under Alex’s dress pants. “Christ, I missed having your cock in my mouth,” he panted, already dropping to his knees.

A Halloween Costume Assignment Misunderstanding

The sight of Alex stepping out of the bathroom made Henry’s eyes widen as he stared on in awe. Alex was clad in perhaps the tightest outfit Henry had ever seen. It was a fireman costume, complete with suspenders, a shirt that hugged Alex’s skin so much so that his abs we’re visible through it, and pants so tight they had to be illegal. Perhaps it was because Henry knew the dimensions better than he knew the route to the grocery store, but he swore he could map out exactly where Alex’s cock begun and ended in those trousers. There certainly wasn’t the remotest chance that Alex had on any underwear. His dark curls were tousled messy, a week-old stubble on his face, and he’d smeared what looked like a bit of black eye shadow on his high cheeks and forehead to replicate ash. Henry was salivating. “Are you… David Bowie as a be- Oh! You’re David!” Alex laughed as soon as he connected the dots, “That’s really cute, baby,” he added still chuckling. “Oh my- fuck me, Christ alive, look at you, you look like a firefighter in a porno,” Henry sounded both exasperated and completely enamored, it was a feat. “And I’m… in a beagle onesie, oh that…” he stopped speaking words then, opting to audibly grumble.

Sugarbaby Alex <3

Alex watched the man stand up, he was tall, maybe a few inches taller than Alex, but there was no reason to admit that out loud. Blond hair that was cut neatly save a few stray pieces had fallen onto his forehead as he stood up. There were flecks of silver strands lining his temples, but he’d aged gracefully from what Alex could see. He looked mature, not old, or perhaps Alex just had the wrong idea of what thirty-eight looked like. Either way, he was confident it didn’t normally look like this, high cheekbones and full lips, a broad frame and thighs that looked thick even in dress pants. The closer this man got, Alex could see a tiny mole at the corner of his mouth, an identical one on his chin. Briefly Alex caught himself wondering if there might be any more perfectly placed moles somewhere else on this man’s body. Or maybe even a dusting of light freckles like Alex saw along the blond’s nose, maybe on his chest or shoulders. Alex couldn’t see much else, due to the dress shirt the blond had on, buttoned and tucked in neatly; covered by a sweater vest. Was the outfit what was considered casual in England? Maybe just in this house? Or was it simply because Alex was coming? Questionable attire aside, Alex could feel his heart in his throat. His hands felt sweaty, and it wasn’t the fireplace. His cheeks were warm, and he knew he must be blushing. See, the thing was, Alex had noticed men before, he’d even fooled around with them. But he wasn’t entirely sure that he was actually into them. Standing here though, in this room, locking his eyes on bright lighter ones, Alex knew one thing: he was instantly sexually attracted to this man. “Henry is more than fine, you can call me Henry,” the blond offered, interrupting the racing thoughts Alex had. Henry extended a hand to shake, somewhat awkwardly, like he didn’t think it fit the situation, “I hope your flight was well, I’m glad to see you made it.” “Ah, right, Henry, nice to meet you,” Alex managed smiling, even if it was certainly a bit nervous, “Uh, yeah, the flight was great. First class was really nice, thank you. I uhm- I’m glad to be here,” he nodded before reaching out to shake the other man’s hand. It was soft, warm, and slightly smaller than Alex’s hand. He fought a shudder, convincing himself that he didn’t feel electricity run up through his arm as their palms met.

-

okay that was super long, if you made it this far, thank you i love you, kissing you <3 YAY TAGS (no pressure tags darlings)

@taste-thewaste @eusuntgratie @henrysfox @mikibwrites

@softboynick @catdadacd @sheepywritesfics @henryspearl

@basil-bird @caressthosecheekbones @henfox @anti-homophobia-cheese @redlipstickandglitter

@thesleepyskipper @tailsbeth-writes @thighzp + literally anyone else I'm sleepy and forgot, or anyone who sees this and wants to tag me, I love reading yall's stuff. <3

[moralesmilesanhour]

what you're searching for.

summary: Margo goes to a shitty poetry slam and gets more out of it than she expects. wc: 4.9k warnings: alcohol consumption, and it's like very VERY lightly implied that they had an Adult Sleepover if you get my meaning. Nothing really too suggestive in here I promise. One singular reference to a tiktok. a/n: this took me a whole ass week but I'm very proud of where my writing style is going! somewhat inspired by the film 'Love Jones'. If you enjoyed this pls feel free to leave your thoughts or your favorite line if you have one! EDIT: OH MY GOD I FORGOT TO ADD: the first poem is actually taken from the Junior novel 'Miles Morales: Suspended' by Jason Reynolds! The poem at the end is mine though lmao I'm not the best poet

Margo can’t stand poetry.

Someone gets up in front of you with a piece of paper clutched in their hands, and recites what is simultaneously the most vague and the most painfully obvious string of fragmented sentences you’ve ever heard as if they’d just touched your soul.

It’s not rapping, not preaching, but the ugly middle child standing between them. Some odd bastardization of music for people who thought they were too smart for either of the first two, but weren't brave enough to just give speeches.

Speeches, at least, are coherent, specific, and can be scrutinized.

So far, sitting in the front row of the bar that her classmate Zoe had invited her to for poetry night, no one has changed her mind. 

Tonight’s performances consisted of an assembly line of men (and a couple of women) in vintage sweaters ranting about their exes to the rhythm of bongo drums, or some mildly relevant social issue that none had the lexicon to really say anything in stanzas that hasn’t already been said. She had heard nothing yet that sounded much more profound than an Instagram post.

Although, one girl had come up and recited a short poem about her late mother that Margo thought was quite sweet, and the least tortuous to sit through.

The crowd erupted in snaps again for a poet with long braided dreads and an ankh tattoo whose words she had tuned out. The host took the mic and announced the final (thank god) participant:

“Now this next one I had to practically drag over here to get him to share his beautiful poetry with us tonight. Everyone, please give a warm welcome to one of my close friends and colleagues, Miles Morales!”

A lanky young man–Margo suspects about six feet even, given the way he’s towering over the host–awkwardly shuffles over to the center of the stage, offering the crowd a tight-lipped smile. 

He’s in a plain green sweater with the sleeves hastily rolled up to his elbows and a bomber jacket tied around his waist. As soon as he’s handed the microphone, it seems to dawn on him that there’s no turning back, and his body visibly tenses. 

He clearly just got here, and for once Margo doesn’t know what to expect.

Squinting beneath the bright spotlight, he clears his throat and speaks into the mic. 

“Um, hi.”

A few scattered ‘hi’s from the crowd.

There’s something bright and sweet in the tone of his voice that makes him sound a little boyish, and she wonders what he could possibly have under his sleeve that warranted him getting dragged up here last minute.

He takes a deep breath.

“It’s said

That nobody

Is ever more

Than ten feet

From a spider.”

Miles began the poem carefully, like he was confessing something. 

“They be everywhere you and me are.”

A few members of the crowd laugh, others shudder at the thought and frown. 

“And even though

We see them only

When they big enough to see, or when

They move,

Like a cursor

Across the blank white

Page of a wall…”

His voice loses some of its airiness in exchange for confidence as he recites the rest of the poem, and Margo realizes that he isn’t reading off of anything. 

Either he’s improvising, or he has it entirely memorized.

“Or when we trip

The web-like wire

Of a booby trap

Or when they

Fang our flesh

We should probably

Assume most

Just be right there…”

Miles paused and looked somewhere far beyond the crowd, lifting his arm to point to the back of the room. Then he repeated:

“Right there,

Right here,”

He gestures toward the front row, where his eyes land directly on Margo. It’s not so close to the stage that she can tell for sure, but she thinks she sees a hint of a smile cross his lips.

“Looking at us,

Looking over them.”

Silence. 

His arm falls limply to his side as his eyes frantically scan the audience, searching for some kind of response. 

Then, someone begins to clap. Then another. Then another. WIthin moments, the entire room erupts in applause, causing a shy smile to spread across the young man’s face.

“Uh, thank you!” he says, surprised at the positive reception, before shrinking into himself again and leaving the stage the same way he came.

The host returns and takes the mic from him.

“Miles Morales, everybody!”

-

After the poetry slam, Margo insisted that Zoe take her to the sushi place across the street. It had a bar sitting off to the side, one with significantly less poets. The decorative lights hung directly above the shelf filled with glass bottles and shrouded them in cherry red.

Zoe takes a sip of her sherry and leans in.

“Sooo, how was it?”

“It was a’ight.”

The light-skinned girl’s lips pull into a pout. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I told you poetry wasn’t my thing,” Margo pauses, then amends, “I liked the last guy, though. Breath of fuckin’ fresh air.”

“Right? His style really caught my attention, subtle.”

“Glad you liked it.”

Zoe’s eyes widened as she glanced just beyond Margo’s shoulder.

When Margo turned towards the familiar voice and froze. 

The poet in question was standing just inches away, a friendly smile gracing his features. His jacket is no longer around his waist, neatly folded over his arm like an expensive coat. He is with the excitable darker-skinned man who’d just hosted the event, and a man the shade of sandalwood standing just behind him.

They’re both wearing the same type of muted cardigan as Miles, but they’ve got actual coats.

“Y’all were in the front, right?” Miles asks the both of them, though he’s only looking at Margo.

She nods wordlessly. Zoe picks up the slack.

“M-hm, you were great up there! You’ve really never shown anyone your work ‘till tonight?”

Miles snorts at the wording of the phrase. ‘His work’.

“I wrote that poem in high school,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, but my roommate…” 

He gives the dark-skinned man a dirty look. 

“...swiped my journal and found it. Told me I should read it out loud somewhere.”

Margo examines Miles’ face and imagines him as a baby-faced high-schooler, sitting in the back of the classroom with a protective arm around the beat-up red composition notebook he’s writing in. He stuffs it in his bag as soon as he’s done, because he has just poured his heart out onto that page, and his crush’s name is in there. Maybe there are tiny doodles of her in the margins.

“Yo,” the sandalwood-colored man claps Miles on the shoulder. “We about to hit up Tiff’s place, you coming?”

“Yeah, in a minute,” Miles nods dismissively. “I’ll catch up with y’all.”

The two other men give each other a knowing look before brushing past him.

“Alright man, catch you later then.”

Once she finally regains the ability to speak, Margo remarks, “You were the only performance I really liked, if I’m being honest.”

“Is that so?” 

“Oh yeah, this one hates poetry,” Zoe places a hand on Margo’s shoulder and laughs. “Tried to change her mind by bringing her over here, but no dice.”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “What made mine so different?”

“Hm, I dunno…” Margo’s eyes float over his form before making their way back up to his face. “Your delivery, I guess.”

Safe to say, he looks amusedly unconvinced.

“My…delivery.”

She catches herself and quickly adds, “I-I mean, it also kinda felt like everyone else was trying too hard. So.”

He tilts his head at the remark.

“Are you just saying that to flatter me?”

.“I don’t flatter people. Too close to lying.”

“That sounds like half a poem already. Maybe you should go up there next week.”

She gives him a lopsided smile.

“Only if you’re there. I need something to actually look forward to.”

His tongue darts out and passes over his lips.

“What’s your name?”

“Margo.”

Miles hums, softly repeating the name before inching his way over to the counter where he leans his hip on it.

“Pretty. Can I buy you a drink, Margo?”

She doesn’t think her name is all that pretty, but he makes it sound that way.

“Knock yourself out.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Zoe teases as she rises from her seat. “I’m gonna go order us some sushi.”

Miles takes the stool to Margo’s left as he waits on their drinks, his long legs never needing to leave the ground to do so.

He has a funny way of sitting, hands folded neatly in front of him with his back just a few degrees off from being perfectly straight. As if you needed to look distinguished at a sushi bar.

Church boy, Margo guessed. That, or his daddy’s a military man.

It’s adorable either way.

“You in school?” she asked.

“Yup. Princeton.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Oh shit, me too! I’ve never seen you on campus, though. What’s your major?”

“Physics. You?”

“Comp Sci. Been coding since I was in middle school, so…”

Margo remembers the echoing ‘click-clack’ of her keyboard as she sat in an empty computer lab for hours on end after school because she preferred it to her parents’ house.

The bartender hands Miles two glasses of white wine, and he sets the second glass in front of Margo, his warm eyes still focused on her. 

She’s intrigued by how clear they are - no trace of suspicion or calculation behind them. Just the warmth.

“So, where you from? My folks are over in Brooklyn.”

“Georgia.”

Miles’ brows jump to his hairline.

“Damn. What brought you all the way up here?”

To get as far away as possible. 

“Well, it’s Princeton,” she says beneath a forced laugh.

“Yeah, but you got, like, eight different HBCUs over there. How’d Princeton win you over?”

Margo breaks eye contact to stare into her drink.

“Needed a change of pace.”

When she looks up to gauge Miles’ reaction, skepticism is written all over his face. But he doesn’t push it further.

“That’s fair. Princeton’s got a cutting-edge quantum physics program that I’m aiming for. Had to beg my parents to come here,” he grins proudly, “but here I am.”

Margo is silent for a moment.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks suddenly, beckoning Miles to lean in.

“Yeah?”

Grinning, she half-whispers, “I’m actually here on a scholarship.”

He gives her an odd look. 

“Why’d you say it like that? Nothin’ wrong with getting a full ride. The opposite, actually.”

“Some people might feel otherwise. You’re like, the second person I’ve told other than my parents.”

“And why me?” Miles chuckles. “My poetry was just that good?”

“I just…Hm.”

Margo leans back and takes a contemplative sip of her wine, watching him over the rim of her glass. 

Why did she just tell him that?

“I guess I just sorta felt like telling you.”

Margo cautiously sets the wine back down. She figures if she’s not careful, he’ll have her full government name and social security number by the end of the night.

“Y’know, I actually get that a lot,” Miles laughs. “One time, I had this lady I was standing in line with at Target turn around and just start telling me stories about her dead son and how much she misses him. And it’s like, I’m sorry for your loss, but we’re in Target right now and I literally do not know you.”

“Wait, people just go up to you and…tell you shit?”

“Yup. There was this other time at church, too. Just as service ends and I’m about to get up and leave, this short old dude–Dominican, I think–stops me and starts telling me about his entire life. I’m talking start to finish! Apparently I reminded him of his nephew that died in the military or something.”

“Jesus.”

A crease forms between Margo’s brows. She wishes she could say she didn’t understand the old man at church or the lady at Target, but she does. No, it’s not the poetry. It’s got nothing to do with words. 

It’s the way that Miles looks at people. 

Like he already knows all of your secrets, but you’re not worried because they’re safe with him, so might as well tell them. It’s a merciful sort of gaze; you get the impression that he won’t judge you. You might even tell him more after his friendly ‘boy-next-door’ voice coaxes them out of you. The thought unsettles her because she had done just that.

“You ever had a girlfriend before?” She asks, all of a sudden.

Miles shrugs, “Yeah, in tenth grade, then again freshman year. Didn’t really work out.”

“Why not?”

His brows furrow gently for just a second, as if he’s still trying to figure out the answer to that.

“I…don’t know, actually. It goes well the first few months and then…”

“It fizzles out?”

“I get ghosted. Something about how they’re ‘not ready’. Understandable, I guess, but you don’t have to ghost me, y’know?”

He awkwardly examines his fingers, then his glass. 

Margo feels a bit guilty for suddenly bringing up his exes when they’d just met. Would they end up the same way? She saw herself there too, being in a relationship for six months before his weird pastor’s eyes get to be a bit too much and she takes off.

“Yikes, sorry I asked.”

“It’s no problem,” a smile starts to return to his face. “Onto better things, right?”

“Right.”

“And you?”

“Huh?”

“You ever been in a relationship before?”

Margo smiles awkwardly and messes with one of her fingernails.

“Well…not exactly.”

Miles’ eyes widen.

“Never?”

“I mean, guys offer, and then we talk for a little bit, but then…”

“They flake out on you.”

“Pretty much.”

“Damn shame,” he says with a bit of sharpness to his voice. “Not even a first date?”

“Nope, just ‘Read at 4:15’.”

“You know what I think it is?”

Just as he asks this, his knee brushes against her thigh. Margo isn’t sure if it’s an accident, but it distracts her nonetheless.

“What?”

“You’re too smart for them, I can tell. It scares ‘em.” But it doesn’t scare me, is the suggestion.

He smiles then, the kind that shows the whiteness of his teeth on every vowel. It’s wide enough that a dimple comes out of hiding on his left cheek, and she suddenly wants to tell him everything again. She takes another sip of wine.

“So! What’d I miss?”

Zoe finally returns from ordering their sushi at the front with an expectant grin. Miles still hasn’t taken his eyes off of her friend, while she is staring at him like a string of code, which, if you know Margo, is better than nothing.

“You didn’t miss much,” says Margo. “We were just talkin’ about our majors. School stuff.”

Miles checks his phone and lets out a low whistle.

“Well, it was lovely meeting y’all, but I gotta bounce. After getting dragged onstage, I get to be dragged over to a house party, too.”

Just as he rises from his seat, he stops and points at her.

“Before I go, though, d’you mind giving me your digits? I’d love to talk about, uh…computer science…over lunch.”

She snorts, “Who still says ‘digits’?” but hands him her phone anyway. 

It couldn’t hurt to try. 

“Sure.”

His eyes light up as if he wasn’t expecting her to say yes as he saves his number as ‘poetry slam guy’ in her phone, then hands it back.

“Cool,” Miles begins his walk towards the entrance backwards, holding eye contact for just a little longer before turning around. “G’night!”

“Goodnight!” the two women call out in unison as he leaves.

Margo looks to her left at the now-empty bar stool. The glass of wine Miles left on the counter is full, completely untouched.

It’s still on her mind as she's sitting in her single dorm room, re-writing her lecture notes on cyber security in a meticulous neat print that could almost pass for a font.

Every few minutes her pen stops because she’s distracted by the sound of clinking glass in boxes downstairs, or because she pauses to stare at the white wall in front of her that brings to mind one of the lines of Miles’ poem. 

There might be a spider that I can’t see sitting ten feet away from me right this second, she muses to herself. The thought gives her an idea, and the perfect excuse to call him without seeming too desperate.

Margo unlocks her phone and scrolls through her contacts. She smiles to herself at the contact name Miles chose. Did he think she’d forget his name that easily? 

His voice soon filters through the speaker.

“Hey, you didn’t throw out my number!”

“Yup, lucky you.” she replies. “I wanted to ask you a question? About your poem the other night.”

“What about it?”

“See, I was thinking about that first line. Are we really never more than ten feet away from a spider? Like, at any given moment?”

There’s a moment of silence from Miles before he asks:

“You…called me just to ask me that?”

“What? It’s a very pressing issue! There’s probably one in the corner  of my room as we speak!”

“Alright, I’ll humor you,” Miles laughs. “That’s actually a myth from the 90s. Your distance from the nearest spider really depends on where you’re at, so if you’re in a spot with hella bugs, you’re more likely to see one. You’re probably fine.”

“Now wait just a minute!” Margo gasps dramatically. “So you lied to all those poor folks in there?”

“Sure did. Played ‘em all like a fiddle.”

“Terrible.”

“So, why’d you really call? You don’t sound as concerned about spiders as you say you are, if I’m being honest.”

So much for an excuse.

“Don’t nothing get past you, huh?”

This earns a burst of laughter from Miles’ end.

“You’re a worse liar than me, I wouldn’t recommend making it a habit.”

“Ugh, fine,” Margo admits,  “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You could hear my voice in real life, you know. Offer’s still on the table, and I’m free today.”

Their second conversation, and already a lunch date? But as she’s reminded of what his voice sounds like, she quickly realizes that just the voice is not enough. 

Still, she tries to sound casual and makes a non-committal noise.

“Better than being cooped up in my room all day.”

“Great! Where you wanna go?”

Margo shrugs as if he can see her on the other end.

“Wherever you wanna go.”

“Ah, the ‘wherever you wanna go’ paradox,” he chuckles. “Okay, well–lemme ask you this then. Do you like eating with or without music?”

There’s a beat of silence as she considers.

“Hm…is the music good?”

“I’d never subject anyone to a place that plays shit music. Promise.”

“Music, then.”

“Cool, what time works for you?”

“How does two sound? I’ll catch you in front of the Engineering Library.”

“Bet. See you in an hour, then!”

-

The place Miles chose had a live band playing at the front.

A bass player, a keyboard pianist, a saxophonist, and a few background vocalists on occasion. All are propelled forward by the rapid-fire snare of the drummer. It’s jazz - the easy, conversational kind you hear in the background of 90s romantic comedies where the love interest wears nothing but dark lip liner and filled-in brows with a bit of smokey eyeshadow in the crease.

This is the look that Margo has decided to go for as she sits across from Miles at a mahogany table positioned ideally by the window.

It was all she could do other than frantically adjust the braided 'fro-hawk sitting atop her head and spin around in a mist of ‘Champagne Toast’ before bolting out the door.

She doubts he can even smell it right now through the curry and garlic.

“Figured out what you want yet?” Miles asks as he looks over his menu at Margo.

“Eh, I dunno,” she replies, running her index finger down her own menu. “I’m tryin’ not to blow half my paycheck on pasta right now.”

Miles gives her a strange look, then it clicks.

“Oh! Lunch is on me,” he laughs. “Your bank account’s safe for now.”

Her head snaps up.

“You should’ve mentioned that! I thought we were going half and half this whole time, I had my whole budget for the week planned out.”

Margo has to hold back an ugly cackle at the look of horror on Miles’ face right after she says this.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

With this new information in mind, she orders a bowl of chicken alfredo with a glass of lemonade that she sips on as the band seamlessly transitions into a cover of Solange’s ‘Cranes in the Sky’.

“So, Margo,” Miles rests his chin on his knuckles and squints his eyes comically. 

“If that is your real name.”

Margo giggles, and plays along.

“It’s not, it’s my alter-ego for when I go on top-secret missions.”

“Is it short for something? Or just Margo?”

“Hm,” she puts on an affected, ‘action movie’ voice, “If I tell you, I might have to kill you.”

“It’s worse ways to die out there.”

Margo looks around her as if to make sure no one’s listening, then leans in.

“It’s short for Marguerite.”

Miles snaps his fingers.

“I knew it!”

“What? You think I look like a Marguerite? Seriously?”

“No, but you got a lil’ country twang in your voice. Ain’t no way in hell Margo wasn’t short for something.”

“Man, alright,” she laughed. 

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” he winked, “I like ‘em country.”

“Boy, don’t give me that! You look like you’d pass out at the sight of a jar of pig’s feet.”

“Hey now, I got family in South Carolina. I used to go down there and see about ten of those every summer.”

“Fine, but you were still raised a Northerner. I could hear the Brooklyn from a mile away.”

Miles removed his hand from under his chin to clutch his chest.

“Ugh, I feel like I’m caught between two worlds!”

The reference to one of the more choice lines from the poetry slam makes Margo snort and let out a loud guffaw, which she quickly muffles with the palm of her hand.

“Why would you remind me of that!”

Miles is soon infected by the fit of laughter and has to put all his strength into not doubling over at the table and drawing attention.

“This nigga said,” he wheezed, “ ‘I keep doing the Achy Breaky to Suavemente!’ “

“I thought I was the only one who thought that shit sucked,” Margo sighed as she wiped a tear from her eye. “But I didn’t wanna be mean ‘cuz I’m not like, half Puerto Rican, or anything like that.”

“Well I am, and that whole poem felt like a microaggression. And I knew that guy!” He starts gesturing wildly with his hands at the outrage, which Margo finds hilarious. 

“He's like, one-eighth Boricua. His last name is fuckin’ Schwartz!” Miles scoffs, “He don’t know shit about no damn ‘Suavemente’. Bet he looked it up.”

“You should write your own poem, then. ‘Take up space’, as they say.”

“Hell no,” he said. “I left that behind in high school. The other night was an exception, remember?”

“Look, I’m not one to encourage more people to become poets, but you never know. Something might inspire you.”

Miles calms down and gives her a meaningful look.

“Maybe.”

The rest of the conversation saw Miles slyly gathering intel through bites of roasted chicken. He’d quickly learned from their meeting at the bar that his line of questioning with Margo ought to be less direct.

He even hit her with the ‘what’s your sign’ question, though Biggie would’ve advised against it (Margo was a Libra, he was a Leo). He didn’t actually care for astrology, but Margo wasted no time in proclaiming that she couldn’t stand Scorpios because they were ‘too nosy’. 

Miles’ only error was asking if she’d ever dated–correction–spoken to one, and her eyes hardened with suspicion again. He quickly elected to change the subject.

“Okay, totally random question, but humor me. How do you like your eggs?”

Margo blinks twice.

“What?”

“You heard me. You can tell a lot about a person by what kinda eggs they like, true shit.”

“Alright, fine. I like ‘em fried, with the crispy edges. What that say about me?”

“I dunno, but when I find out it’ll all make sense.”

Margo laughs.

“Okay, well, how do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled, fluffy,” A childish grin spread across Miles’ lips. “And seasoned with Adobo to make ‘em all orange.”

“Never had ‘em like that before.”

“Maybe I could make some for you sometime, if you’d let me.”

“Maybe.”

She remembers his promise a month later when she wakes up to the aroma of the seasoning and hears the pop of frying oil, letting out a sigh of relief at the realization that Miles is still there.

His back is facing her when she enters the kitchen, the morning light illuminating a tattoo she had never seen before. 

It’s a spider with sprawling legs that cascade all the way down the expanse of skin, the movement of his shoulder blades bringing them partially to life. She hadn’t noticed it in the dark, and he was not one to walk around in anything revealing enough for it to have ever seen daylight. It’s faded, which means he’s likely had it for years.

He’s only twenty-one, she thinks. Did he get it in high school?

Amusement creeps onto Margo’s face at the image of Miles sneaking around the house, darting in and out of the bathroom to clean it without his hawk-eyed mother or straight-edged father taking notice. Picturing this, it’s suddenly much easier to believe that their son would have to beg and plead for them to send him a measly forty-six miles away for school, even for an Ivy League. 

Miles doesn’t turn around yet, but Margo catches the way he stops, tilting his head playfully and placing a hand on his hip.

“Man, I can’t believe I’mma have to eat this whole thing of scrambled eggs all by myself, with the ones I just fried! How sad.” “You’re not very funny,” Margo says with a smile, pulling out a chair from beneath the dining table.

He switches the stove off, then does a dramatic spin to face her with fake surprise on his face.

“Oh! Where’d you come from? I didn’t see you there.”

He turns back around to grab two plates–ceramic ones, not the stack of styrofoam ones–from one of the cupboards to serve the eggs in, starting with fried.

Margo watches him silently. The tiny, squint-or-you-might-miss-it gold chain around his neck catches the light as he moves, and she remembers feeling the cold metal brush across her lips.

“The fried ones, are they–”

“Crispy at the edges?” he finishes, with a smile in his voice. “Yes ma’am!”

“You could really be a detective, can’t get nothing past you.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“See?”

The two burst into laughter, and the ink on Miles’ back does also. His poem was accurate, in a way. For the past five weeks, Margo has been no more than ten feet away from a spider.

They have a brief and quiet breakfast, wherein Margo finally asks to try the scrambled eggs and is delighted by the burst of flavor added by the Adobo. They aren’t too dry or too soggy the way they tend to be in restaurants - just fluffy, as promised. She thinks it might be time to finally start taking Miles at his word as she watches his back again while he’s washing dishes.

Once he is fully dressed and about to leave, Miles stops suddenly, as if he’s forgotten something. He reaches into the left pocket of his jacket and pulls out a neatly-folded sheet of paper, nervously running his other hand through the short dreads sitting atop his head.

“Before I leave, I, uh…I took your advice and wrote a lil’ something.”

He hands it to Margo, who takes it gingerly. 

“Well, good for you.”

“It’s been a while, so it’s kinda rough, but hopefully the sentiment is there.”

Miles plants a quick kiss on her cheek, and she smiles easily for once as opposed to the usual raised eyebrow.

“I’ll be sure to let you know if it is.”

Some time after he leaves, she finally sits down to read it while sipping on a cup of tea, because coffee wreaks havoc on her nerves. His handwriting is strange, overly graphic as if it’s the title card of a cartoon, but she reads it.

I know you don't like poetry 

but you said you liked mine,

and the way you sip your wine

has set my pen to paper,

so I hope 

you'll make another exception. 

You've already claimed

half of my sketchbook 

because I just can't get your eyes right.

I always make ‘em too soft,

or too round.

They don't pierce through me,

like they did when

you stared at me over your glass,

eyes narrowed.

When you search my face

and pick me apart,

I'd like to know what it is 

you're always searching for.

[justrainandcoffee]

Trust

RxJ Masterlist

Summary: James has problems at work and opens his heart to her, telling Rose about his father. After three weeks, Rose has the answers she had been waiting for. But they're worse than she imagined. || The new feelings for the other start to overwhelm them. "What are we?"

Warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse, physical violence but also fluff.

Words: 1.1K. || Prequel to this fic.

According to their words, they were just friends. Friends that have been lying with for the last three weeks and friends that spent every free moment they had together. From walking hand in hand in the park to share a coffee when the rain didn't allow them to be outside.

Slowly they started to know eachother quite well. And that's why, James tried to say to himself, he called her when that particular day that was quite hard for him.

But it wasn't until later that day that she could go to his apartment and see him.

Now, both of them were sitting in bed and she was trying to understand what happened.

"They fired you!?"

"I don't know. They didn't fired me. No. Technically they just suspended me for two weeks. But, I don't know, honestly, I don't know. If I lose my job…- I have bills to pay, the rent! I don't have other choice, Rose, I… I should've control myself, but I couldn't."

All James said to her in the morning was that he had a photoshoot to do but ended bad when he beat up a man.

"It's not like suddenly I became violent, Róisín, I'm not like that. But," he stopped for a moment to look at her. "he was mistreating his kid. That fucking bastard was really close to hit the boy. And I wasn't going to allow it."

"It's not your fault, James. They suspended you for helping a kid?"

"It's the friend of our head department. I bet he invented some story… I saw my brothers and me in that kid. Yes, I did. You asked me once what the marks on my back were. Well, they're a reminder that I have a son of a bitch as father."

The first time she saw the lines on his back it was the morning after the first time together. Long marks decorating his white skin like a map. Barely visible, unless you were closed to him like she was in that moment. That day, she didn't dare to ask how it happened but she did it the following days. More moved by curiosity than other reasons, but he preferred not to answer and she respected that.

"Shit, James, I'm sorry." Rose hugged him and he rested his head on her. "Your brothers were victims, too?"

"Yes. The three of us. But as soon as Jared turned 18, he did everything he could to become Jay's legal guardian. And he did it! Imagine how horrible the situation was that a judge thought that a 14 year old boy was safer with another teenager that his parents. So that day, Jared picked up his things, our brother and they left the house to never return. Jared basically left his dreams aside to work and take care of him. He did great. This year Jay finishes school, so Jared can finally start to focus on himself. He deserves it."

"Sounds like he's the best big brother you could ask for. And you? Weren't you a minor when that happened too?"

"Yes, but I was 17, had a part time job and my father didn't dare to put a hand on me anymore, although he continued yelling things. When Jay finally left the house, I moved with them to the house that belonged to our uncle. His son, our cousin, left it to Jared but a year and a half later I moved here. They still live there."

"Fuck, James. And I thought that my father abandoning my mother while pregnant with my youngest brother was a lot. And what about your mother? Did she…?"

"My mother deserves her own theatre play, darling. Because if you think my father is crazy, you need to know about her."

"You use her surname."

"She never hit me, Róisín. Sometimes you're forced to choose the least worst option."

"That's unfair, you don't deserve it and your brothers either. I'm really sorry," Rose said caressing his face. "And what happened to you today, isn't fair either."

"Maybe two weeks away from work is what I need. Even if they don't pay me. I think I'm going to go to Dublin to see them. Jay's birthday is coming, too, so it's a good opportunity."

"Yes! That's a great idea, Jamie!" she exclaimed and her cheerful energy made him smile "I bet you need to see them and it'll be good for you."

In a single motion, he picked her up and both ended lying on the mattress. The kiss that followed was passionate enough to make them want more, but the mood wasn't the best for him in that moment and she didn't push him.

"What are we, Rose?" he asked as he put a hair string behind her ear.

"I don't know, but you always can count on me."

"Will you be waiting for me when I came back in some days?"

"I will, silly. Look, you didn't leave and I already miss you," she said and he couldn't help but kiss her again.

James would remember that moment days later when his brother Jared tell him that he's in love with Rose. Because it was in that moment when he realised that there was something else with the English girl. When it was about his father, James always avoided the subject. It was easier to pretend that never happened, yet, that day he only thought about her when the incident happened. He trusted her and that wasn't frequent for him.

"Stay," he asked, wrapping his arms around her.

"I'm planning to stay all the time you need me. Do you want me to order food now or…?"

"Later," he mumbled against her.

"Later, then." She closed her eyes, feeling his breathing caressing her neck. Her heart and mind were racing.

James wasn't the first man she frequented, but he was the first one she really wanted to be with. Spend time with. She liked James… maybe even more than that.

He slid his hand under her shirt caressing her sides.

"Thanks, Róisín."

"No need to thank me, Jamie. That's what friends do, don't they? And we're friends."

The sun was setting down and his bedroom was almost dark. She didn't see when he opened his eyes, still hugging her.

Friendship was a beautiful word to describe what he felt for Sarah. Or some of his other colleagues. But when it was about her… James moved in bed knowing it was a bit more complex. Or maybe that day he felt vulnerable and was thinking things that weren't. Of course she was his friend but one with whom he could do other things. James breathed deeply and kissed her temple before sitting in bed, resting his back on the header.

"Yes, we are," he said half smiling. "You know? I think I'll accept the food now."

"Good. Nothing that some pizzas can't do for your soul. My treat. Do you still want me to stay afterwards?"

"I want you to never leave."

--

Next

@call-sign-shark @peakyswritings @evita-shelby @zablife @cillmequick @hoodeddreams13

[mantidbasil]

I have been thinking nonstop about how tf2 mercs and markiplier egos would interact now 😭

-------

Heavy, squinting down at Dr. Iplier: tiny.... tiny little doctor...? (mark is only taller than engie, maybe the same height as pyro)

------- Medic: Hey if you want I could heal your ey- The Host: NO. Medic: :( why not The Host: It's complicated Medic: Please don't tell me your eye sockets are haunted too... ------- Google: (minding his own buisiness) Engineer, visibly twitching: Hey there. (slowly pulls out screwdriver. casually approaches). Mind if I ask how you were made? ------- Spy has no interest in interacting with anyone until he finds Dark sitting in a corner drinking wine. He sits down next to them, pours himself a glass, and they just silently exchange looks. -------

PYRO AND WILFORD PYRO AND WILFORD OMG Pyro: (drawing rainbows) Wilford: Ha ha! I'm wearing rainbow suspenders!

Pyro: (burning down buildings, setting people on fire) Wilford: This is fine because death isn't real! (shoots someone)

Pyro: Mmph Mmph! Wilford: Unfortunately your subtitles haven't been translated, so ol' Warfstache here doesn't know what you're saying :(

------- Bing and Scout do skateboard tricks together. Both of them attempt a very simple trick and fail it, falling down and scraping their knees. Both insist they are the better skater, the world's best skater even.

-------

Heist Mark pulls out his bombs and his 16th Century flintlock pistol likely used by pirates for boarding actionsTM and Demoman is mildly interested. Heist Mark then proves that he has strangely extensive knowledge about medieval weaponry and Demo is much more interested. Demo pulls out Eyelander and Captain Magnum joins their little group where they all start talking about weapons and bombs.

-------

Engineer: (disappointed after having failed to get permission to take Google apart and put him back together) Head Engineer Mark: Hi there! I heard you're an engineer? I'm an engineer! Engineer: Do you. Build guns. Or robot arms. Head Engineer Mark: I mean I have the Asteroid Defense System turrets..... but actually I build a spaceship and sort of maybe a time travel universe breaking machine? Engineer: So a dangerous device that can destroy the world.... can I see the schematics?

------- I know in my SOUL Ed Edgar and Sniper hate each other but I can't elaborate. Illinois and Sniper have a very casual truce going on but ultimately Sniper does not really wanna hang out with anyone. This of course means the Jims spot him standing off to the side and think he's the perfect intervewee and at least three, maybe four Jims swarm Sniper and shove cameras and microphones inches from his face and he has a terrible time.

-------

Yandere somehow completely enchants Medic's doves and I can't elaborate on this either. Heavy is bemused. As long as Archimedes chooses Medic over Yan he's going to pretend he isn't jealous about the attention his doves are giving her. Scout goes "AWOOGA GIRL?!" and gets stabbed by Yan. Heavy is reminded of his younger sisters and is delighted.

-------

Eric Derekson is terrified of Soldier. The main two off the top of my head who are not put off by Soldier's shouting are King of the Squirrels and Yancy. Soldier corners King and is like "what are you king of?! not america. WHAT COUNTRY IS SQUIRRELS" Scout hears Yancy speak, hears the accent, and immediately throws hands.

-------

I am yap-o-clock-ing in your ask box but I needed to give you the brainrot that you've given me

OH MY GOD IM DRAWING SOME OF THESE I PROMISE YOU . I DONT KNOW WHEN ILL DRAW THEM BUT I BET YOUR ASS THEYLL BE DRAWN. KEEP YAPPING IN MY INBOX.

PLEASE. PLEASE KEEP TALKING.

TF2 x MARK EGOS BRAINROT !!!!!!!!!

[yanderejustforyou]

Hiiii. Love your writing, it's seriously good!!! 😃 I am OBSESSED with that drugged!Sam ficlet you wrote! 😍

I was wondering if I can request a dark wincest scribble, maybe based off that scene where Dean hits Sam because of the whole demon blood thing...?? Dean can barely contain his rage and I bet he's far more jealous of Ruby than he'd like to admit.... And now, Sam has been with that b*tch again and that's just the last straw for Dean: He's going to teach Sam a serious lesson.... And he's gonna let him know exactly who he belongs to! 😏

Bonus points for knife- or gun-play. 😉

(Btw, I couldn't find anything on your blog about your stance on non-con - if you're cool with it, feel free to give it a go in some shape or form, whatever you're comfortable with. If you don't want to go there, that's totally fine too and you can just ignore that bit - and, my apologies.)

Non-con is a yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm gonna write more and definitely make a part 2 where its spicy

Hope you like it so far

Last Straw

The air in the motel room was thick with tension, heavy enough to make it difficult to breathe. Shadows clung to the corners, accentuating the dim light that filtered through the outdated curtains, casting flickering patterns on the walls. Dean paced back and forth, his boots scuffing against the worn carpet that had seen far too many late-night arguments and too few peaceful moments. He’d been like this for hours now—ever since he had returned from the hunt, blood still warm on his hands, and caught the unmistakable scent of her lingering on Sam.

Ruby.

Just the thought of her name sent a surge of anger coursing through him, igniting the resentment that simmered beneath the surface. Dean clenched his fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms hard enough that he could feel the sharp sting of pain, but it was nothing compared to the turmoil inside him. It wasn’t merely the fact that Sam had been in contact with demon blood, though that was certainly bad enough. It wasn’t just the lying or the sneaking around that had Dean’s insides churning with existential dread. No, what really consumed him, what burned hotter than the most vicious flames of Hellfire, was the abhorrent thought of Sam being with her. Trusting her. Needing her.

“Dean—” Sam started, his voice tentative, but it broke when Dean turned on him, eyes blazing with a fury that could incinerate.

“Don’t. Don’t you even try,” Dean spat, his words laced with venom. “You’ve been with her again, haven’t you? Drinking her poison. Letting her… touch you.”

The raw intensity of Dean’s words struck Sam like a physical blow, causing him to flinch visibly at the venom laced in his brother’s tone. But despite the tempest brewing between them, he held his ground, unwavering. “You don’t understand. She’s helping me, Dean. She’s—”

“She’s using you!” Dean roared, the walls trembling under the force of his voice. “You think she gives a damn about you, Sammy? About us? She’s got you wrapped around her finger, and you’re too blind to see it.”

The distance between them shrank as Dean stepped closer, their bodies mere inches apart now. The heat emanating from Dean, fueled by unchecked rage, washed over Sam like a wave. His chest tightened as he swallowed hard, the weight of his brother’s anger almost suffocating, challenging him to retreat, but Sam stayed firm, refusing to back down.

“And what about you, huh?” Sam shot back, his voice rising in defiance to meet Dean’s fury. “You don’t get to play the hero when you’re the one who’s been keeping secrets. You’re not exactly innocent, Dean.”

In a split second, Dean’s fist moved before his mind could catch up, a sharp crack echoing through the small room as his fist connected forcefully with Sam’s jaw. The moment hung suspended in the air between them, fraught with shock and disbelief, as Sam’s head snapped to the side, his breath catching painfully in his throat.

Dean’s chest heaved with a mixture of regret and pent-up rage, his hand lingering in the wake of what he had just done, still tingling from the impact. The anger that had been simmering beneath his skin now bubbled to the surface, demanding more, shaping itself into an almost physical presence that threatened to consume everything around them.

“You think you belong to her?” Dean growled, his voice lowered to a dangerous whisper, each word dripping with possessive fury. “You don’t. You’re mine, Sam. You’ve always been mine. And I’ll be damned if I let some demon take you away from me.”

In that instant, the world outside faded to nothingness, leaving only the two brothers standing against the shadows of their own making.

The air was electric.

[dlysthings]

I was wondering if you could write a one shot or drabble about in a hypothetical future where Daryl is back from France and him and reader are living together. She asks him to put on the blue sweater with the suspenders and he really doesn’t understand why. Once he puts it on, she goes feral. Smut if you’re comfortable but if not that is perfectly okay!

@marvelcasey05 i hope you like it. Im sorry i didnt include any snut but i have no idea how to graphically write this. Im going to work on that. Also i have no idea how to think of titles. Please help with that.

Why didn't you put this on sooner?

“Oh my God why didn’t you put this on sooner? Hm, baby? I forgot how good it looks on you.” You ran your hands over the blue clad stomach of the archer in front of you. Gliding your hands higher up his body you could feel the rapid pace of his heart beat in his chest and smoothly placing your hands over his broad shoulders and locking them there. Pulling him by the shoulders into a kiss he was quick to respond to, matching his movements with yours. Your lips together dancing in perfect harmony with each other’s after all the years you spent together.

A minute ago you had walked into your shared bedroom and saw the most beautiful view of all. Your husband, Daryl, wearing the same clothes he wore when the two of you were rescued by the group of French nuns. Even then seeing him in that blue sweater and suspenders made your mouth water and thighs clench with need. The moment you had a bit of privacy you pulled him inside an empty room, not being able to wait any more time with your soaking wet pussy empty. And that was one of the most heated quickies the two of you had ever had. For some reason the suspenders really did it for you. Maybe it was because you had never saw Daryl wear clothes in that style, but they looked like they were made for him.

The blue color of the sweater made his ocean blue eyes more visible and intense, looking like the water of the shore that you found yourself at that so time ago. And the suspenders made it even better giving him more of a fancy look, one that you never imagined to see Daryl in. But since you saw this look you could never seem to forget it. When you walked in your room and saw him standing there in front of the mirror with the worn down clothes, observing himself you couldn’t stop yourself from getting aroused. It’s not like you made it on purpose, the man just had this effect on you. And now that he wasn’t under so much pressure you could finally take proper care of your man.

Gliding your tongue over his sealed lips and pushing it inside his mouth you heard him groan into your mouth, his lips chafed, but soft. Both of his hands landed on your hips, squeezing gently the soft flesh there, the thumbs of his hands starting to slowly draw little circles. One of your hands moved from his shoulder to tangle into his brown locks. Heat blossomed in your chest as his hand moved over the expanse of your back and came to gently cup your jaw, bringing your face even closer. He could feel your shared breath between your bodies and the faint scent of lavender from your favorite shampoo. The smell always brought him calm and piece, maybe it was the smell or the fact it meant you were close to him. He supposed it was both, but surely it was the later. The kiss turned more passionate the more you brought your bodies together, at the end not an inch between your bodies. The heat became unbearable and both of you needed air, so you pulled away, but Daryl was fast to move his lips to your cheek, placing a few kisses there and trailing them down towards your jaw.

You moved your head to the side, giving him a better access to your neck, his next destination. The moment he attached his lips to the spot of warm skin under your ear and starting sucking you let out a breathy moan. Deciding he gave your sweet spot enough he moved down to your collarbone, peppering gentle kisses over it. When he retreated his head you used the moment to attach your lips to his again in a hungry kiss, but kissing wasn’t enough anymore. Moving down towards his neck, leaving a trail of swoopy kisses over it until you sank down to your knees, needing to take care of the obvious boner poking in his pants. Caressing his thighs over the fabric of his worn down pants you look up at him. His pupils are blown out with lust, the blue of his irises only a thin circle.

[boyrobott]

(i know you're on break rn so don't feel pressured to reply ) but the video essay is officially on youtube worldwide!! I had to fight with copyright for a week to get it up lol, but its here! 90 minutes of unhinged rambling about this movie. (GhostyQuartz on youtube, I don't think your asks allow links lol)

it's great to hear from you again! and if it helps you feel any better about messaging me while i'm on hiatus, i pretty much never log onto social media when i'm on a break, so i didn't even see this message until a couple days ago when i had some downtime. but i immediately went and watched your video essay right away as soon as i had the chance! i'm going to drop a comment on the video itself at some point, but i also don't want to clutter up your comment section too much, so i'm going to post the majority of my thoughts here instead.

for interested followers, here's the video in question.

"make america metro city great again" is living in my head rent-free from now on. it'll be here for exactly forever.

"you won't grow??? get sold to the circus, idiot" 😭😭😭

referring to elefun as tenma's "definitely not gay lover" ITS TRUE BUT YOU SHOULDNT SAY IT. WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUTING THEM LIKE THIS. THEY HAVE A RIGHT TO THEIR PRIVACY. WHO ARE YOU TO TAKE THAT AWAY FROM THEM.

i literally never noticed nor considered the symbolism of astro being suspended by wires, breaking free of those wires in the first moments of existence, and becoming so much more than the puppet tenma wants him to be. that literally got me right in the chest. i never thought about that before. thank you. i will be thinking about it for exactly forever now.

your notes about tenma's relationship with both his sons being largely transactional in their own ways (tobio gets good grades, tenma "rewards" him with love & affection / astro behaves like tobio, tenma "rewards" him with love & affection / astro fails to behave like tobio, tenma shuns him, withdraws from him, and rejects him) and how that bleeds over into astro's dynamic with everyone else in the movie, particularly hamegg, and colors his actions during his stay in the orphanage, is actually something i've thought about a lot. so it was really cool to hear somebody else drew the exact same conclusion. still got me right in the chest though.

re: why do robots have their own language, separate from the humans, in the 2009 universe?? i'm actually writing a fic about that!! i originally intended for it to fill one of the astro boy 2024 fanweek prompts, but then i got a better idea and this one went on the back burner. but it'll definitely get written & posted someday!

your analysis of the tension in astro's posture whenever tenma is in the room made me so sad for real. the fact that astro is so visibly uncomfortable and nervous around his own father will never not break my heart. poor kid deserves so much better.

ZANE IS BESTIE GOALS!!!!! this is real!!! this is true!!! this is canon!!! sometimes i feel like i'm the only true zane stan in the fandom, so it's always so great to encounter other people who also notice what a good friend he is to astro. their dynamic is usually ignored or overlooked in favor of astro & cora (which is understandable, considering their parallel backstories) but i really love them. zane is so ride-or-die for astro it's UNREAL. i've played around with the concept of zane faking his illiteracy so astro can reveal his secret on his own terms, too, and that was actually my automatic assumption when i watched the movie for the first time -- zane was just pretending for astro's sake -- but then the joke came back a couple times later on, and i don't know if zane has the patience and dedication to commit to the bit for that long, lmao. nonetheless, i've been considering a post-canon fic where zane accidentally reveals he does know how to read, and astro is so genuinely stunned lol

the surface was SO criminally underutilized. thank you for noticing. kissing you on the mouth. in my opinion, it was a far more interesting location than metro city, and i would've loved a more thorough exploration of it before he goes back home. i'd love the opportunity to write a post-canon fic one day where astro stays on the surface for several years at a time, slowly helping the surface-dwellers bring the earth back to life. elefun did say the blue core had the power to do that, and i just think it'd be really cool if his prediction came true not because of the energy within the core being "properly harnessed", as he says, but because the robot who's powered by it cares enough about humanity to devote himself to planetary restoration efforts all across the globe.

did not realize cora was canonically seventeen. i dont like that. i dont like that at all. i'm rejecting that full stop. she's like twelve or thirteen now because i said so. (i know she's pretty tall in comparison to the boys, which would suggest she's older, but i always assumed that was because girls tend to hit puberty first and reach their adult height by fourteen or fifteen, with maybe another inch or two before they hit adulthood. so i figured that was what happened with her. plus, astro & zane aren't really that tall. astro is canonically under five feet, and zane is only about four inches taller than him, give or take a bit. even if we assume astro is 4'11 (he's not lmao he's closer to 4'5 or 4'6 i think) that would only put zane at about 5'4.) and now you've got me wondering whether astro is canonically thirteen or not, because i always assumed he was younger, too, and everyone just jumped on what that security guard in the ministry says to tobio ("you're what, thirteen?") as a canon confirmation of his age. but you know what, it doesn't matter what his canon age is, because i won't accept it, anyway. he's ten or eleven to me. no way he's any older than that. he's too baby-coded <3

you want a copy of the 2009 novelization?? i gotchu. give me a little while to get it together and find a site to put it on (i know internet archive hosts rare books, but i dont know shit about it beyond that i just use it to read out-of-print stuff from decades past lmao so there WILL be a learning curve). i also have the 2009 graphic novel AND the Underground comic series. hmu if you want any of that too

"hamegg should have found out astro was tenma's son and hurt him as a way to get back at tenma" NO NO BUT I'VE ACTUALLY BEEN WRITING A FIC ABOUT THIS?????? I'VE BEEN WRITING A FIC ABOUT THIS FOR REAL???? I'VE HAD THIS EXACT IDEA IN MY HEAD SINCE 2021???? WHAT THE HELL AND FUCK!!!!!!!

that moment where you stopped to count up all the times astro died in the movie literally sent me into fucking orbit for real. i saved the picture to my computer because i want to be able to look at "death #3 (kind of)" whenever i want

speaking of memes i'm honored my "do it for him" one got featured in your video 😭😭😭

THE EYE CONTACT DURING THE SCENE WHERE TENMA DEACTIVATES ASTRO. YOU GET IT. YOU ABSOLUTELY GET IT. YOU ABSOLUTELY FUCKING GET IT. ALL THE UNSPOKEN THINGS BETWEEN THEM HANGING SO HEAVY IN THE AIR IT'S ALMOST PALPABLE. THE REGRET AND REMORSE AND GRIEF AND DESPERATE HOPE ON BOTH SIDES. TENMA'S EFFORTS TO FIND TOBIO IN ASTRO. NO MATTER HOW MUCH THEY LOVE EACH OTHER THEY ARE NOT CAPABLE OF BEING WHAT THE OTHER WANTS OR NEEDS. I'M LEGIT CHEWING DRYWALL RN.

your absolute roast of tenma's redesign was so good lmao. "you can tell he hasn't had a good night's sleep in 3 decades" took me OUT. they really yanked his dilf card away and didnt give it back until pluto 😭

you really hit the nail on the head when you said hamegg's presence on the surface combined with stone's presence in metro city means astro isn't safe anywhere. one of my favorite things about the movie is how there is nowhere astro can go to escape the humans' cruelty. he can't even find basic safety and security, let alone home and family. it really drives home the hardship he's living through, and underscores the inherent tragedy of his existence. i'm absolutely fine.

i'm really surprised to hear you disliked astro's statements regarding his "destiny", since that was something i personally enjoyed a great deal! the way i've always interpreted is not that astro genuinely, wholeheartedly believes in fate so much as he has to believe in it to maintain his sense of hope and optimism. he has to believe that he has a greater purpose beyond a failed experiment and an imperfect copy of his father's real son, he has to believe he exists for a good reason, because otherwise, he'll have to face the fact that he's nothing more than a mistake tenma made in the darkest depths of his grief and denial. if he admits there's no such thing as destiny, he admits that he has no purpose and no place in the world. if he admits there's no such thing as destiny, he admits that he shouldn't even be alive. when he says it's his destiny to die at tenma's hands in the ministry, and when he says it's his destiny to die fighting the peacekeeper, that's actually an extremely realistic and heartbreakingly human response to his very distressing, very traumatic, and horrendously unfair circumstances. at the end of the day, he's really nothing more than a young boy who's just had his whole world ripped away from him, and he's struggling to make sense of this new reality he's found himself in. the horror of his situation is simply too cruel for him to accept fully, so he dresses it up as destiny. that's always been fascinating and heart-wrenching to me in equal measure. but i understand it's not for everyone, and to each their own 🤷

thank you again for linking me to the video! it was so much fun and so enjoyable for a die-hard 2009 fan such as myself. i'd be interested in hearing your thoughts if / when you complete your watch of the 2003 series, though i understand videos of that length require a lot of time and commitment, so i absolutely don't expect to see anything like that, lol. i hope you're having a wonderful day, and that you have a lovely holiday season if you celebrate anything around this time of year!

[knockyasocksoff2022]

The One Day Return of Double Black

(A/N: I intitailly panned for this to be a relationship reveal but it turned out softer, as many of my writing has lately. I don't mind it though. Also this is my very first time ever writing in 3rd person so please forgive me if it sounds whack as hell. This fic isn't entirley isn't entirely in 3rd person, but I wanted to try out a new style of writing,  so let me know if you like it.)

(4,846 words)

Third Person Perspective:

He walks with a purpose, angry that his partner left for work without him. Isn’t it much more efficient if they come in together? After all, they’re work partners so no one would ever suspect the rings resting under Chuuya's glove and Dazai’s shirt, on a chain that holds it suspended right over his heart.

The route to the headquarters is twisting turns through dark back streets, but Dazai remembers it with perfect clarity as if it were yesterday. To him, it was.

—

Even after all this time not much had changed. The Port Mafia still cower under the gaze of Dazai Osamu. If anything they’re more afraid now. And why shouldn’t they be, he is the only person in history to betray the mafia and walk away alive.

The guards are so scared they hardly pay attention to the way the Demon prodigy’s gaze isn’t as sharp as usual, eyes glazed over, or that his unbrushed hair sticks to his forehead with sweat.

Even if they were to notice, it would go uncommented on because that’s the privilege of being the Demon Prodigy.

So no one says anything when he walks through the lobby of the Mori Corporation, black dress shoes still shiny as the day they last set foot here, clicking evenly as he heads for the lift.

The guards will not radio about his presence to their superiors because they are cowards, too afraid of being punished for letting him in. They will not stop him either, too afraid of being punished if he is truly supposed to be here. They are too afraid of him. The torture master, who seems to have regained sight in his other eye. “How terrifying,” they think, “must he be with full sight instead of half.”

The torture master doesn’t stop to think that it’s strange that his old lift code still works, because right now he doesn’t remember just how old it is, the heat coursing through his body erasing the past four years of conflict.

He stares at his reflection. His suit is still pressed, not a wrinkle visible because it’s been untouched. To anyone else, the garment would have been long outgrown but years of only occasional meals of low-calorie food have allowed him to remain the same size and weight as when he was only a boy.

He does not think he is eighteen again, but maybe he wishes he was. For him, time has passed in a sort of mixed and matched fashion, a quilt of mind and muscle memories. His mind, for the movement at least, exists in a world where things are the same as they’ve always been. And when the lift door opens, he needs only to walk down the corridor, into the meeting room (his biometrics will still work) and his executive seat will be waiting for him (it is) just as it was yesterday. He has no idea that, while he would be welcome, his striding into that room would cause a commotion. To him, this is simply another day.

“Maybe I’ll blow off the meeting, and just bother Slug instead, he did leave without me after all.” The prodigy hums as he thinks to himself.

The lift opens to an empty corridor, the boy’s illusion is safe for now.

Chuuya comes first, before everything. He heads down the opposite end of the corridor, to give his lover a piece of his mind.

Chuuya’s Perspective

The weekly meeting was cancelled, and I hardly have any paperwork so I’d say this counts as a good morning. Maybe Mori-san will ask me to take Elise out for ice cream or something. I don’t mind her, when she’s away from him she’s really a nice kid. I won’t dwell too much on the fact that she’s been a kid the entire time I’ve known her, maybe her ability has something to do with shape-shifting.

(A/N: Chuuya likes to be with Elise because it makes him feel tall.)

The door slams open. It’s not the noise that makes me drop my pen, but the person standing in my doorway.

“Ne Chibi! You horrible ungrateful slug, you left me at home! Honestly, you’re so disrespectful. You made me late, I should report you to Mori-san, but I won't because I’m such a good partner, not like you.” 

And suddenly . . .

He’s 16 again. 

A teenager in demeanour but a man in physique, and I’d be lying by omission if I failed to mention how he looks in that suit. The whole situation takes my breath away, proof that love trumps logic when my first thoughts on his sudden appearance here are thirsty ones and not concern.

It makes me a bit sick to think that he’s still skinny enough to fit into something he wore when he was eighteen.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” That's what I want to say, but Dazai’s realm is logic, shifting the pieces from the background. Brute force won’t get me anywhere, it only makes him curl defensively into himself, like a porcupine.

“First of all, you’re the ungrateful one, you brat! You’re the one that sleeps until ungodly hours of the morning. I left you breakfast, did you want a note or something? I’m not your mother!”

He crosses his arms, stepping closer to my desk. I don’t stop him, “Breakfast was absolutely terrible, like everything else you cook, and you still left me—”

I want to laugh, we both know my cooking is exquisite, but there’s something more upsetting about what he said. “Wait, you didn’t drive here, did you?”

“How else was I supposed to get to work when you LEFT ME!” he emphasises the last two words, hopping up to sit on the edge of my desk. I sit on my hands so I don't end up shoving him out of the window.

“I can’t believe you! How many property damage fees do we owe now? Never mind, don't answer that. God! You’re giving me a headache already. And stop going on about how I left you, this isn’t bringing your fish to work day. Why are you even here at all? If you bothered to drive, why didn’t you go to work?”

“I did. I’m here, aren’t I? I could’ve ditched, but nooo, I came in just for you, hatrack.”

“You know you don’t work here anymore, dumbass.” It’s a joke, we both know it. This is just something Osamu would do, come back and act like everything is normal just to psych me out. I always swear not to let his antics phase me but something about him today is ‘off ’. It’s already driving me insane how I can’t put my finger on it.

“Yes I do, I always have, does Chibi have amnesia or did he just finally run out of memory storage in that small brain of his?” He tugs on my hat and I reach out to punch him but he sinks down before I can.

“My brain is just the same size as yours. You don’t work here, and if you think you do then you’re the one with mental problems, not me!”

“Ah, my dog is so mean to me! Bad dog! Bad dog!”

“I’m not your fucking dog you sleazy bastard.”

“Big words coming from a chibikko hatrack.” He remarks, shrugging casually.

These words finally make me pause. As much as we still love sniping at each other, many of these nicknames are hardly ever used anymore, ones we save for times when we both need the nostalgia. Hatrack. I haven’t heard that one in forever, and despite the jeering nature, it sends a flood of warmth through me.

Is that what he’s here for? The nostalgia of it all? Is this what he wants? 

I scrutinise his face for any trace of his motives, taking in every detail. He’s a glorious enigma. His jet-black hair is matted, a snarl that still manages to look fluffy. There’s something stiff about the way it frames his face as if stuck on by glue.

His eyes are bright, a different kind of bright than when he usually teases me, or the soft aura they get when it’s just us alone at home. Normally when he teases me his irises maintain that darkness, almost black, eating all light that enters them, but now they almost appear chocolate brown, reflecting the light. Glossy, sparkling with a shine like the surface of the ocean under the summer sun. It’s disconcerting, wrong, like when he smiles just a little too wide. I don’t dislike it, but I know it isn’t right.

He hasn’t shaved in a while and there’s stubble forming around his jaw, the dark contrasting with his pale features, too pale, the barely visible bags of his eyes making his eyes look far too big.

If nostalgia is what he wants then I’d be happy to give it to him, but I don’t think it is. This is something beyond either of our control.

Shit.

Great, this is just great! What am I gonna do with him now?

“Is Chibi going to apologise to me, or will he be sleeping on the sofa tonight?”

I step closer. I know what’s wrong, but I’ll need to touch him to be sure.

We’re so close now that I can feel the heat radiating off him, his coat certainly isn’t helping. I run at a higher temperature because of Arahabaki, so if I can feel it, it’s bad. He needs a doctor fast, but he’s so stubborn . . . how can I make him come willingly?

“I’m sorry I left you, Osa. You just looked so peaceful sleeping, I couldn’t wake you.” I whisper the words, standing on my tip-toes, leaning forward, closing the small gap between us.

It’s true, with his insomnia being how it is a full night's sleep is rare and when he does get it I let him sleep for as long as he possibly can. I think his colleagues think he sleeps late but most of the time he’s laying in bed staring at the ceiling, unable to get up or trying another method of suicide he found on some sketchy webpage with r-rated pop-up ads.

When my lips meet his I gasp, he tries to deepen the kiss and put his tongue in my mouth. I don’t let him. He responds by pulling the long piece of my hair. I pull away, still grasping his shoulders. I’d been expecting warmth but not like this. Holding him is like holding a flame, his skin feeling like he’s been outside for hours in the summer heat. 

“Fuck! Shit! Dammit, Osa! You’re burning up.”

He just laughs, “So Chibi does think I’m hot, I knew it!” he grins in triumph, of course, he would be laughing with a temperature like this, “You earned your way back to the bed–”

“Actually, I will be sleeping on the sofa, I have no intention of catching whatever you have. We need to get you to the infirmary, Mori-san will have something for you.”

I grab his hand and pull him out the door. I should be worried about people seeing him, but they won’t hurt him. And should they try I won’t let them. I hold Osamu’s burning hand all the way to the lift. How he’s still even functioning, much less standing with a fever like this makes me think he really isn’t human.

The infirmary is only one floor below us, just below the training room, but the training room takes up the space of three floors and the lift isn’t going nearly fast enough for my liking, so I use my ability to drop it.

I thank god for Osamu’s awareness and that he doesn’t cling to me for support and risk cancelling my ability.

When we reach the right floor I release the lift from For The Tainted Sorrow, it clunks loudly to a stop.

The infirmary takes up this entire floor, you might think we’d need multiple floors for enough space, and we do, but this is the so-named special infirmary. (Some of us call it the Meat Locker, behind Mori-san’s back because it’s always so cold.) Mori-san works here when he’s not busy planning strategy. This facility is for the top mafia operatives and is thus equipped to handle ability users and ability-related injuries. The grunts and foot soldiers use the larger infirmary lower in the building.

I set Osamu on the nearest bed and go to find a nurse. The nurses must be in between shifts, but I find Elise. She’s wearing a small nurse’s uniform, hat and all. When I was first told she worked in here I was extremely sceptical but her medical knowledge is as vast as Mori-san and she’s never made a mistake in treating a wound. (This backs up my theory that she’s not actually a child, but an adult who likes to shapeshift into child form, for whatever reason.)

(A/N: HC that Elise possesses all the same basic skills that Mori-san has, like she can do surgery and she could drive but it’s a bit hard for her to reach the pedals and see over the dash. Also in this fic, Chuuya doesn't know Elise is Mori-san’s ability.)

Elise greets me, “You’re here with Osamu aren’t you?”

“How-”

“It’s the look on your face, only he can bring that worry and desperation out in you. What’s happened to him, another attempt?”

“No, he has a fever.”

Elise glares and rolls her eyes, “A fever, seriously!”

“Come on, Elise, you know I wouldn’t have brought him here if it wasn’t bad, and it’s bad.”

“True. Does he have any other symptoms?”

“No, but he’s delirious, he thinks he still works here.”

“Oh, I’m sure Rintarou loves that.” Her dry humour at the expense of Mori-san always amuses me, but I don't laugh now.

“He doesn’t know yet.”

“Are you hiding Osamu?”

“No, he just marched in here as far as I can tell, but I didn’t get a chance to tell Mori-san yet. I figured I’d do it when he’s not dying.”

Elise shrugs, “Fair.”

We’re at Osamu’s bed now, and I can see what he so easily hides from everyone else. He’s starting to wear, the fever finally taking its toll, still, he looks much better than he should and it creeps me out a bit.

Elise feels his forehead, but unlike me, maintains her composure simply nodding and pulling out a thermometer. He doesn’t let Elise stick the thermometer in his ear, so I do it, while she disappears into the medication store room.

After too long, the device beeps.

39.4℃

How is he even . . .? Right, he’s Dazai, of course, he’s fine. The damn cockroach!

Elise is back, pushing a cart with a glass pitcher, a stack of fabric, and medication, which Osamu takes only after I give him a stern look.

Elise takes a stack of fabric, white clothes, and lays them on the bed.

“Fevers like this are dangerous, he’ll need to stay hydrated.” She sets the pitcher on the table beside the bed, “This is mineral water, make sure he drinks all of it, and when it’s empty fill it up again, they’re bottles in the fridge in the store room. If he starts showing any more symptoms let me know, but unless something changes, he should be okay to go home tonight.”

I nod, dumping my coat and hat into the bed next to us, and pouring some water into the glass cup, holding it carefully out to my husband. He doesn’t take it.

“You can get changed first, but then you have to drink water, okay.”

He nods.

I hand him the stack of clothes and pull the curtain around the bed.

When he doesn’t stand I begin pulling off his trench coat. He sits up a bit, allowing me to remove the heavy garment, then flops back down, I sigh and let my finger trace his collarbone while I untie his tie, he leans into the contact, more alert now. I ignore how my warm touch feeling cool to him isn’t a good thing in favour of unbuttoning his shirt.

Now all that’s left are his bandages.

They’re stuck to his skin with sweat but eventually, I peel them all off, his pale fevered skin glowing sickly under the fluorescent lights.

A cool shower or bath would be ideal but I settle for wetting a towel under the sink and patting him down gently with it. He leans into my touch and for just a second I think he’s fallen asleep but then his eyes blink open so fast it makes me jump a little. Swatting his bare arm, I help him put on the soft white pants and a loose white t-shirt.

He still doesn’t touch his water.

I hold it out to him, “You gotta drink, Osa, having a fever like this isn’t good for you, we need to get it down. Then we can go home and watch whatever shitty movies you like.”

He shakes his head.

“Osamu!”

He’s staring at me like he's drinking in every aspect of my being like I did for him in my office.

“I like it when Chuuya is my partner.” He finally says.

“I’ll always be your partner, you silly fish. Forever remember, we promised.” I take off my glove, showing him the ring, a shining metal thing. Two bands of stainless steel with azure sapphires running a line in between them.

Osamu takes out his own ring, two iron bands, with blood-red rubies in between, and rolls it in his palms, not saying anything.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I mean it like this.” He gestures to the infirmary around us but I still don’t understand.

“I like being Chuuya’s work partner,” he explains, looking more alert now, the medication must be working. “I like it, knowing that everything is still the same, being here and knowing I belong.”

Oh. “You’ll always belong here.”

“Maybe so, but I could never ignore Oda’s last wish like that. I’m already remembering, and I know that once I stop having a temperature everything will go back to normal. But I want . . . I want to stay here with you, hatrack, in this time capsule, just a bit longer.”

Softness and tender love may be what he needs, but it’s not what he wants. Well, then I’ll play along. I don’t mind at all. If he wants to be sixteen again, who am I to deny him that? I’ll love and care for him in the same burning way I did back then.

I sigh, sitting up straighter, leaning away from him, removing any trace of softness from my voice and getting into character. “Hmph! Of course, a mackerel like you would want to stay here longer! I thought you hated pain. And, don’t give me those eyes, I’m not gonna do your paperwork for you.”

He smiles that goofy smile, understanding what I’m doing, not at all offended by my harsh tone.

“Ah, but dogs are supposed to be loyal, and I’m sooo dreadfully ill!” He flops back dramatically

The next line comes easily, “I am not your damn dog!”

We fall back into the teenage banter embarrassingly easily as he goes on about how his greater height makes him the master. It feels like only yesterday that I was in the arcade, choosing to follow him instead of Shirase and Yuan, as I shove a cup of the mineral water towards him, splashing his face. 16-year-old me wouldn’t have reached for a towel to dry his face, so I don’t either. It’s probably okay since he still has a fever.

“Just shut up and drink, you mummified fish!”

He dips his finger in the cup and flicks water at me.

“Dammit, shitty Dazai! Drink it and drown for all I care.”

He takes a slow sip, then another, downing the cup in seconds, his following of my command the only thing shattering the illusion. It makes me laugh how I still call him Dazai when I tease him, even though he hasn’t had that surname in years. I think he’ll always be Dazai, on some level.

-

The day passes surprisingly quickly. With the help of the medication, cool clothes and water, Osamu’s temperature steadily returns to normal.

I tell him about the upcoming mission Mori-san has for ‘us’ and we complain about it. I hear Elise’s chime-like laughter from the store room. Even with his head foggy he offers strategies that make me wish he would still sit at the executive table.

I complain to him about how Mori-san is probably going to make me do paperwork on this incident, and he replies that it’s my own fault because I shouldn’t have left without him, and could have just left him in my office. “But you didn’t, because Chibikko cares about me~~~” he sing-songs.

“In your fucking dreams maybe!” The denial sounds so false on my lips that we both burst out laughing. His eyes are clear again, the haze of fever gone, he doesn't think he’s my work partner anymore, but neither of us stops the banter.

-

After a while though, the sun begins to slip lower and lower in the sky. I take Osamu’s temperature, it’s normal. The pretending is officially over.

“You're all better, Osa. As soon as Elise clears you, we can go home.” I let the softness return to my voice.

I expected him to be disappointed, but he smiles softly, tucking his hair behind his ear in that pretty way he does. Sometimes we both yearn for the nostalgia of simpler times, but we both know that what we have now, between us and only us, is a million times better.

I’ll miss this, but I won’t miss the old port mafia dorm or Osamu’s shipping container. I won’t miss when we didn’t have our own home, the place that is ours. A place we don’t have to hide. I won’t miss the time before I wore a metal ring under my glove. 

I do miss our large king bed, open plan kitchen, luxurious sofa, and our spacious shower.

My stomach rumbles, “God, I’m fucking starving.”

Osamu pats his own stomach, and we remember neither of us had lunch. For some reason, it seems like the funniest thing. We can’t stop laughing for a full minute.

I sigh, catching my breath. “Do you feel well enough to eat? We have leftovers in the fridge, or I can make okayu.”

“Hmm, I know it’s late, but I’m restless from lying down all day, we should go out somewhere?”

I give him a once over. He looks fine. “Yeah, sure. How about that old ramen and sushi place, you know, near–”

“The arcade, yeah.” he finishes my sentence.

“I’ll go get Elise.” Before I can get up there's the sound of even steps on the tile floor.

“Chuuya-san, Dazai-kun, I’ve been meaning to come check on you two.” Mori’s voice and silhouette are familiar, even in the dark infirmary.

“Mori-san.” I nod to my boss. If he’s surprised to see Osamu here he doesn't show it.

“Oh, you can drop the formalities for now, and don’t worry, I’m not here about your paperwork, I gave you the day off as soon as Elise informed me of the situation. Thank you for visiting our fine establishment today, Dazai-kun, I’m glad you’re back to full health. Please know you’re welcome back anytime you like.”

With that, he walks off. Most of the time I laugh when Mori asks Osamu to come back. He won’t force him back and even then Osamu would find a way not to come if he didn’t want to. After today though, I find myself wishing Osamu would accept. We were such a good team, and we still are. But I respect his wanting to stay in the light for Oda, and I can be more than content with having him be mine all mine outside of work.

Elise feels Osamu’s forehead, taking his temperature one last time, and declares him cleared.

I smile as she leaves, we both do.

He looks at his clothes scattered on the floor.

“Those are all sweaty, you shouldn’t wear them. And no bandages either, you can put them back on at home, after you’ve had a shower.”

He gives me puppy eyes, “Fine. Would a dog lend his master some of his clothes?”

“Fuck no!”

“Ugh, not the ones you’re wearing . . . though I would like to see you naked.”

I smack him lightly on his head.

He shrugs, “Can’t I be honest with my husband? But only I get to see Chibi naked, you can keep your clothes. I know you keep spare stuff in your office in case you have to work overnight.”

I roll my eyes and pull him up, grabbing his clothes and my own coat and hat.

-

He looks at home in my office, lounging on the sofa looking as if he never left, as if I woke up and came back in here realising that his betrayal was merely a dream. 

But I know he never left me, not really.

The clothes I keep in my drawer are for all sorts of emergencies.

A copy of my usual work outfit in case it gets bloody or something.

Pyjamas if I have to sleep here

A formal suit for the dinners we executives have to attend with Port mafia associates.

Some old casual clothes if I have a stake-out mission

And a nice but not fancy outfit for when I have a date with Osamu and I’m not able to stop at home to get ready first.

I take pieces from each of the last three outfits for Osamu, already laughing as I picture how short the sleeves and trousers will be on him. It’s his fault that his arms and legs are so ridiculously long.

I hand him the clothes and he seems to be thinking the same thing (we often are). His face morphs into a look of teasing disgust. “Ewwww! I have to wear Chuuya’s tacky clothes.”

But he gives no protest as I help him undress. Thankfully the suit is new enough that I hadn't hemmed the slacks yet, and because he’s so skinny the waistband shouldn’t be a problem.

Taking inspiration I decided to go for something more casual myself.

-

The outfit is mismatched but when I stand back it all somehow fits. Frustratingly, he’s managing to pull off the white tee shirt, black slacks, and red hoodie.

I wear a black tee shirt, an old worn pair of jeans and a blue Yokohama Tigers bomber jacket.

He laughs, holding me just off the ground, “We match.”

“Yeah, Now let me go, I’m hungry!”

I stuff our clothes in a paper bag I have left over from my last trip to the wine shop and we’re off.

-

I’d almost forgotten about it but the weight that comes off my shoulders when I see that Osamu’s car is miraculously unscathed is immense.

I drive this time, while Osamu stretches himself out in the backseat, singing loudly along to the music on the radio.

-

The sleek car will stick out on this side of town so I park in an alleyway.

“You good to walk the rest of the way?”

“Yup.”

People stare at us as we walk. I don’t blame them, I’m sure I look like some kind of punk high schooler and then there's Osamu with his dress trousers and shoes with a hoodie.

It makes me feel fifteen again, people used to stare at us then too.

The ramen joint is run by a small gang, but they don’t interfere with us so we leave them alone. The owner still shakes in fear when we enter, wondering what business I could have with him.

“We’re just here for the food,” I say, not paying him a glance as I take two menus from the counter. He sighs in relief.

-

The food takes a bit longer than usual, but I swear it’s twice as delicious. I think they must still be worried about my business here.

Osamu and I eat wordlessly, the food is too good to be uninterrupted by any conversation. When we’re together we don’t need words anyway, and when we’re done we both stare out the window. We can see the bright lights of the arcade from here, one of the only and brightest lights around, a beacon in the night.

Osamu looks at me, I look at him. There’s a certain glimmer in his eyes, the one I used to crave like it was life itself before I knew he returned my feelings. I can see the shine in my own eyes reflected in his.

I take a wad of cash out of my wallet and drop it on the table, the waitress looks at us with wide eyes as we leave. I say nothing but Osamu waves goodbye to the owner like a little kid, the gleam in his eyes only intensifying.

The sun has completely disappeared from sight now, and we should go home and go to bed like responsible adults, especially after the day Osamu’s had. But it’s not the first time and it won’t be the last so what’s a little disregard for personal health for old-time’s sake?